Wheeling Gull Isle there's no pride in sharing scars to prove it

Ixchel could not remember the last time she had felt so free -- had such fun. And she never recalled chasing fire through the woods; a task she would certainly take up again, if given the chance. Her love for Maera was as swift as her brother's, if not forged of a different kiln, and the Corten she-wolf was eager to prove herself worthy of the attention. She could not best her in the race though; the mountain wolf's stride was too long, too swift, for Ixchel to catch her even at full tilt. She was glad when Maera let up on the game, and turned to her instead with another play-bow. The islander pulled up, her tongue lolling from exertion, but she was not done just yet.

"Do I get to chase you now?" Ixchel grinned wildly at the question, and she dipped into a bow herself. I think not, she purred breathlessly. Chase was not a game she could win with the woman; the battler's talents lie elsewhere. You've got me on speed. So how about a game of brawn instead? And with a sultry cackle, the Corten sprang at her with the playful intent to spar.