Sleepy Fox Hollow Get Joanie on the phone, she'll leave us on a light

From the lower mountains did Wylla return, carrying with her a half-eaten rabbit. Its belly and chest had been nibbled away by hungry fangs, but the spine was intact, as was the lolling head and dangling hind limbs. Her fierce, sharp features were bathed in the blood of her conquest, and it was with a jovial step that the Pionier crossed back into Diaspora's territory and began to flaunt the thing around.

She dragged it through the snow, woofing roughly whenever she stopped to swing it through the air and growling playfully whenever it thumped back to earth. From afar, such a display was likely ridiculous to watch if not downright frustrating for how flippantly Wylla flung around a piece of food that could feed a pack member, but a closer look would reveal the opposite.

She was attempting to invite a packmate to play and partake of the food in a more engaging manner.

sixteen days. a fortnight and two.
mahler had adopted the very stretching edges of diasporan territory as his milieu, both anticipating and dreading the next she-wolf who would continue this vorsichtig.
his head felt tight, his loins athrob with annoying persistence; every one of his masculine fibres on edge and scraped down by the tantalizing season.
as if that were not enough, here now the prancing, scuffling object of his attention, all lithe and taut hips, wiry body showcased by her antics.
had her scent changed? he did not know, but was drawn inexorably before wylla all the same.

Who could say if Wylla meant to play fair with whoever came to claim her prize? Resorting to trickery was just as likely a tactic for the tiny Pionier, but there was fun to be had in that, regardless. Fun for her was a given, but if her company had the right sort of humour, it could be fun for them, too.

She paused with her ears flared forward and an anticipatory tension in her stance, but it was only Mahler come to call. Her belly flip-flopped at the sight of him and the memory of the General's body against hers, but she opted not to let talk of all that sour her victory. She shook the rabbit, then dropped it and planted a finely sculpted paw atop it and smirked coyly at Mahler. Take it if you can, she challenged him.

her paws were small, elegantly formed; the singular of them did not escape his notice as the general hesitated only a moment before winds ruffled his hackles, brought a clearer glow to his lilac stare. perhaps in this they might find a different devisement, and one to chase away the carnal tension engendered by memories of their bodies —
ach!
the gargoyle sprang across the snows toward wylla now, jaws aiming to tear away her prize. he expected her willowy form to be more swift, even as he drove himself with more speed than usual.

Mahler wasted no time, and neither did Wylla. He was faster than she anticipated, but she was born to be nimble. Her mother possessed the speed and limber grace of a border collie and Wylla wasn't much different. In seconds she dipped and grasped the rabbit by the spine, swinging it in an arc of remnant blood and snow as she spun and made to flee.

Yet she only took a few steps before she pranced a taunting half circle, dangling the prize loftily out for the General to try to snap for it. There was a sly twinkle in her yellow gaze as she prepared to stick her leg out at the last minute in an effort to trip him up. She wouldn't mind if he managed to grab the rabbit, though. Half the fun was taking turns.

the glint in her sunflower eyes was not missed; she danced aside, nimble as any woodland creature. mahler marveled after her — she was given truly over to their game, and he rose eagerly to the conception that he might be only a wolf with wylla, for a time.
he drew up to avoid her gambit, but the shortening reach meant a clip of jaws that did not quite touch the rabbit.  a hoarse chuckle; he reared now, thrusting a flurry of snow at wylla with his broad forepaws. with luck, she might be caught off-guard.

She was caught off guard. She shouldn't be so surprised—how many times had she done the very same to Ingram, only with sand instead of snow? And how many times had he flung sand at her in return? Nevertheless, a sharp inhale followed by a muffled giggle and a squint betrayed her shock at the most honourable Mahler stooping to such a dirty trick.

Not that she had a problem with it. She played dirty so it was only fair that he did, too. She reared back her head and then flicked it forward, letting go of the half-eaten rabbit at just the right moment to send it sailing through the air toward him. Hopefully, she thought with a smirk, to smack him right in the face that would distract him from the tackle she was aiming at his chest.

the rabbit splayed wildly, wrapping itself round the general's scarred muzzle. a loud chuckle broke from his throat; he cast it down into the snow, only to provide a wider target for wylla to surge upon him. the gargoyle stumbled backward some steps, bracing broad forelegs in the snow, but she had the advantage of one shoulder tucked into his chest.
mahler pushed back against her, straining for better purchase in the drifts.

Wylla's charge ended with an extended shoulder thudding into Mahler's breast, but the General was both larger and more solidly built than his wiry Pionier. A mere flex of the muscles in his legs shaped him into an immovable wall. A wall that rumbled with laughter. Wylla wrinkled her muzzle and shoved harder against him to no avail. She couldn't hope to move Mahler when he was pushing back.

Another tactic was in order. As abruptly as she could manage, she angled her muzzle up toward his throat and shoved her cold nose against the thin skin there. Anything to disrupt his focus so she might push him back even just one inch.

mahler did not expect the thrust of her nose against his throat; he harrumphed in surprise, stepping back even as her weight was tossed against his wide body once more. this time did wylla succeed, and he backed away with a low chuckle of surprised laughter.
"how have you managed to best me, vylla?" he inquired, lilac stare warm with pride. she was cunning, swift, resourceful. he prized all of these attributes within his heart, but they were come to fruition in the little she-wolf and her small fast paws.

I'm just better than you, Wylla sniggered, pushing away from Mahler to snatch the half-eaten rabbit up again. This, she deposited near his forepaws before withdrawing a few steps with a slow wag of her tail. Thought you knew that by now. He'd challenged her to a trial in the cold waves on the sound once. She fancied that she'd won that contest, too, even though she could hardly remember it now. A lot happened in between now to make the memories hazy.

Was gonna give that to someone, she said, indicating the carcass with a lazy sweep of one paw. Help yourself. She'd be lying if she said she'd rather it go to anyone else. Mahler was a genuine friend, so it was natural for her to want to take care of him first and foremost. At least, that's what she told herself.

this time mahler truly laughed, loudly and openly, wholly amused at her utter lack of respectful submission to his rank.
but why would she bow to him? no — wylla was the stuff of leadership, and one day he would put her beside him.
"thank you," the gargoyle murmured, mirth dying down into a bemused ember. he gathered the chewed carcass up and placed it between broad forepaws.
"eat vith me."

Nah, said Wylla, flopping onto her side in the snow and sparing a minute to rub her flank against it. She stretched her legs out toward Mahler, splaying her toes indulgently before settling into a relaxed heap. Already had some. I'm watching my figure, you see. Probably not what Mahler wanted to hear if he was hoping she'd fall pregnant with his pups, but she couldn't give up on the jabs just because she'd chosen to fornicate with him, now could she?

If you eat quick you can join me on a border patrol, she offered. Wylla planned to indulge in a little more lazing about before she went, but it was clear from her tone she intended to go soon.

it was indeed problematic for mahler, who would have ordered wylla to stay abed at once while he caught for her all manner of fattening delicacies if she had been but an iota meeker. yet heaven had given him a bride who would never submit to the rule of man.
mahler enjoyed this, despite the exasperation then and the exasperation that seeped into his features momentarily in this moment. yet he knew better than to go to battle with wylla at this moment. and so he ate at a timely pace, smiling to himself from time over the meal.
when he had finished, the gargoyle raised his heavy head and watched her pleasantly, affectionately.

Mahler took her invitation, eating more quickly than he might have otherwise. Wylla spent the time grooming her chest and stretching languidly in the snow. When he was almost done, she vaguely pointed a white paw in his direction and heaved an exaggerated sigh. Hurry up, she whined, baring a single fang in a teasing simper before rolling onto her belly and pushing herself to her feet.

Le's go, she bid, sweeping a forepaw through the snow and sending a shower of snow in his direction between poking out her tongue, blowing a crude raspberry, and fleeing to the borders with a cackle.