Fairspell Meadow saffron's curse [m]

Luke swam at length, the touch of the stream along his body soothing to the water-loving wolf, who had often said he could spend all day submerged like this. He was aware of his dark furred companion soaking in the rays of the sun, and sensed that his earlier melancholy had given way to contentment in the moment. At this, the pale wolf smiled warmly, but he became suddenly rascally, and devilishness curled his lips as he stole toward Lasher.

He tried to be nonchalant as he stole toward his friend's hind end, pretended to be continuing his leisurely swim, but he knew that when the devil alighted on his lips it was hard to hide and so he tried to keep his mouth in the water. As Luke circled Lasher, he suddenly reached out and grasped his tail gently between his teeth. He gave a tug, and quickly darted for shore. He pranced onto the stream bank and spun to face the earthen male, dropping into a play bow. His hips swayed and his tail waved. An invitation to chase, to frolic and wrestle, had been issued.