Bearclaw Valley I bought this glove a thousand years ago

Satisfied with both his inspection and stretch—the man carried hints and nods to Indra in his fur, Lucas noticed—he picked his front end back up and rocked back onto his chubby haunches with a grin. Even if he was the type of cub to shy away from a strange face, and he wasn't, Lucas would know Tadec for a friend by Indra's scent alone. His aunt was a swell wolf, right on par with Laurel for his most favourite adult, and he trusted her implicitly. By extension, that now included the hybrid before him.

It certainly helped that the man seemed to have secret exploits up his sleeve. Lucas loved a good story, and a good adventure was even better than that. His eyes were round as they met the dark coywolf's face, and his mouth cracked into a wider smile as he gleefully asked, "whassa fy-fly?" In that moment he couldn't have cared less if a firefly was a fire-breathing dragon or a fiery turd; the mere mention of adventure excited him beyond all measure, no matter what it entailed.