Felltree Marsh obviously and furthermore

@Anne

Grimalkin's travels had taken him west, to a desolate moraine littered with fallen trees and murky water.  There were an awful lot of birds around here, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but the midday summer heat had acted as a soporific of sorts and he wanted a nap.  It seemed like whenever he began to doze off, another one of the little buggers would remember a verse it'd forgotten, and then they'd be off again.  The song was neverending.  And monotonous.

It made him a little grumpy, if he was being completely honest.

Well, if he couldn't sleep, Ramskull decided that ruining their plans was the next best thing to do.  He picked his way carefully through the mire until he was in its very heart, and pricked his ears.  Whenever they started up singing, he howled to drown them out.  It was...ridiculously amusing.  He was old enough to know better, but part of being as old as he was meant doing exactly as he damn well pleased.  As a last insult to the flock, he lifted his leg and laid claim to their tree, then reached high to drag his blunt canid's nails down the bark to leave a visual marking.

Gaily now, laughing at himself, he watched as the birds took wing, evidently to find somewhere quieter to make their unholy racket.  Grim was a little vindictive when he wanted to be, and he wasn't tired anymore, so he followed them, singing:

"Mountains roll down to the sea;
I wish that you were here with me.
The waves are breaking along the shore;
it's not the same without you no more, whoa-oh!"

Usually Anne's the one making a scene or being loud. One can imagine her delight when on a boring summer day, as her imagination has entertained her to nearly it's capacity, she hears a howl. A few of them. At the first one, she stood up to listen. Immediately upon the second, she was running in it's direction, deeper into the marsh. Now and then she would stumble or get her foot sucked into mud, but despite these annoyances, she carried forward as quickly as she could. Driven by curiosity, she got to the source rather quickly. But before she saw him, she smelled his marking. Carrying on slower now, covered down her legs with thick and noisome mud, she began to wonder what exactly was going on. Quickly, her imagination sprung into overdrive and several whimsical scenarios danced in her head.

First she saw the scratches down the tree. It gave her a bit of apprehension. Was she trespassing? Was this unknown male dangerous? It's not often Anne allows herself rational thoughts, but at this moment, she stopped in her tracks to think a moment. But as soon as she did, she heard a voice quite near her. Singing a song. Her eyes lit up with joy, and she turned in the direction of the voice. No sooner than the song was done, Anne spotted him: an older male not far ahead of her. "Wait!" She implored loudly to the stranger, attempting to take a step but finding her paw again sucked into the mud. A few more attempts and she's free, but still dirty. She quite nearly leaps toward him, following in the idents his paws made on the soft ground. "Do you know any other songs!?"

Sorry for the wait, @Anne.

Grimalkin decided to harass the pudgy little noisemakers until he became so bored, hot, or tired the endeavor became a chore — but the sound of squelching pawprints and a decidedly feminine voice was enough to make him abandon the task immediately for a more interesting interaction.  "I'm waiting," he quipped, his tone amicable and the swish of his tail as light and easy as his gravelly baritone timbre.  The way she leapt at him was amusing, and he didn't really think she posed a threat to him, but a glint in his bourbon eyes (though they probably appeared a dark brown in the dim lighting of the moraine) said he wasn't quite sure what to make of her.

"Other songs?  Course I do," he said.  "I don't give them away for free, though."

There was nothing lecherous about the way he said it, though it certainly could've been taken that way.  He'd gladly sing her a song if she gave him something back — company or time or a pretty smile, he wasn't picky — but he quickly tacked on: "Be nice if I knew who I was singing for, though.  I'm Grimalkin."