Blacktail Deer Plateau cake by the ocean

Oh, wow! Kitsch did not expect such a response, but she couldn’t say it was entirely unwelcome. If Kitsch had not fur and stood naked before Merrigan, the lass would be able to see the flush which clouded her cheeks. Kitsch bit her lip but was at a loss for words; in her court she would be expected not to respond or entertain such thoughts — but, then again, no one in her court would have been so brash! Despite whatever mother and father would have said, the girl was flattered and was determined not to shift the conversation from flattery to awkwardness with her words. So, Kitsch said none.

But the stranger seemed to realize that she had broken decorum and apologized in a roundabout manner. Kitsch dipped her maw in acceptance of the apology, though the girl wasn’t sure it was warranted. In her kingdom, someone with such forwardness would be expected to issue an apology like such, so it was somewhat comforting to the girl — but the wolves she found in the wilds did not follow her rules and more and more Kitsch was finding this to be engaging, not scary.

“You’re the second most attractive wolf i’ve seen too,” Kitsch said lackadaisically, as if flirting with ladies was something she did every day. But in reality, this was a first. Her mind immediately flicked back to the brute Rollo — who had been the prodigal ‘first attractive wolf.’ Kitsch liked his brooding and vociferous style and often sought him out amongst the bleeding woods; but too often, he was nowhere to be seen. This only made her want him more. “which is saying something,” Kitsch continued. “since i’m a pack wolf.” Kitsch had been impressed with Teaghlaigh’s size, but she knew drama followed large packs of wolves. She was not wrong this time, either. “Do you have a place you call home?”

Merrigan looked surprised at Kitsch’s relative ignorance of these obscured humans, but the woman did not elaborate on the topic. Instead, she explained that the touch of humankind had not befallen these woods — an answer which gave Kitsch only a semblance of contentment. Truly, the ink stained girl wished to know more about these creatures [Kitsch always had an affinity for ghost stories and other scary things that went bump in the night] and was sad when it was denied of her. “Oh,” she breathed, and that was that.

”That’s a pretty name,” Kitsch responded, inelegantly trying to keep up with Merrigan’s barrage of compliments. ”I’m Kitsch,” she responded. The girl was neither fond of her name nor disliked it; she felt the meaning of the was something of an ironic joke by her parents [but her constituents were none the wiser]. Kitsch also disliked how the wolves had a penchant to call her “Quiche." Back home, in Saoi Baile, such would be a punishable offense! Here, though… Here, the princess had to grin and bear it. No one listened to her out here, or listened to what she wanted.

Kitsch looked down to glimpse the small, periwinkle blooms that adorned her ermine décolletage. ”Would you like one?” she suggested, plucking one from her scarfed neck with her lips and offering it to her flirtatious cohort.