The Sunspire froot

The girl was friendly enough — and adorable too, in her cloak of scarlet — and Olive found herself quite charmed by the young thing. There were so very few wolves that she had met who spoke in drawl and related to the world quite as this one did, and it was amusing, if not refreshing. If anything, Olive was more than pleased to have a conversation with another that had nothing to do with Dakarai or his new lover or their child that had turned dark; not of hunger and starvation; not even with the slightest tinge of melancholy or cynicism. Olive had the same, pleasant conversation with Witchbaby as she had a dozen times over with the Sunspire wolves, and still she had not yet tired of it. The fact that she no longer spoke to the others out of aloneness and hardship — it was such a pretty, wonderful thing! The comfort of pack hood allowed for the appreciation of the finer things in life, such as eating for taste and not for sustenance, and traveling for pleasure, not hunting grounds... and, of course, these types of lackadaisical interactions! So when Witchbaby and Olive tied a satin bow on their neat little conversation, Olive retreated to some shady spot ‘neath an oak and fell into a deep sleep; a luxurious type of repose that one could only find when one had absolutely nothing better to do.