The Sunspire your eyes were the color of some kind of grey

Coelho wanted dearly to worm out from the oppressive hold of the female, to dash to Bronte -- but she held firm in place. Her cheeks puffed as each suppressed whine hit the end of her long muzzle, stifled at the tip of her tongue.

When Rannoch approached, Coelho seemed to melt in the manner of a liquid before him - her red ears wilted and her rufous tinted tail beat submissively into the dirt. Apprehensively, she looked to Bronte for guidance -- a nervous, squinty smile stealing across her thin muzzle.