Permafrost Hollows Go Home, You're Drunk

"Kingdom? Oh, no, I don't -!" Posie fumbled a little when the topic shifted back to him, because really, if anything, he was a commoner. Less than that, really. His parents hadn't been highly respected when they conceived the family; but there had been a compassionate leader at the time, and the pack numbers had been low -- ahh, his mind was racing a little too fast. Stories welled up in his memory, and for a few minutes he was overwhelmed, but the boy composed himself. "My name is Primrose."

To any other wolf - especially of the male persuasion - perhaps having a name as sweet sounding as Primrose would be demoralizing, or emasculating, or whatever. But not for Posie. He spoke softly and swiftly, with a tiny bow accompanying the introduction; then, as an afterthought he added: "But if it, uh, pleases you -- Majesty -- ma'am -- you can call me Posie. Everybody does." His little tail gave a wag, and continued to sway as a lazy pendulum behind his petite self.