the sorting hat

One paw hit. The other was caught between her teeth. He lifted his head and shoulders then, using her claim on his leg as a distraction to reach for her scruff between his own teeth in attempt to pull her back down to his level. As much as he could appreciate a woman like his mate on top, it was definitely a position he far preferred for himself.

Nevertheless, a pair of shrieks and screams shook them from their own version of play. Tornavik moved off of him. He rolled back to his belly and glanced towards the retreating adolescent figures before he turned to share a look with his dark lover. "I think we might have scared them," he said quietly, stating the obvious as he pushed himself up to his feet. Then he raised his voice, as he nudged her playfully with his shoulder and spoke so all could hear. "Fe fi fo fum!" he bellowed. "I hunger for the little ones!"

Not seriously. He'd never dream to eat another wolf. But for the sake of play and pretending and crafting a good old-fashion sense of fear in the minds of younger wolves who could speak of how these caves were haunted by giants, why not? Oh right. Because his mate was the most literal wolf alive. At which point, he lowered his ears for a moment, realizing his mistake, and whispered lowly to her once more. "I'd never eat them. It's all pretend. Playing." Words she might not understand at all. "Be the boogey monster, but not really." Worth a shot.