Wheeling Gull Isle pinkie pie's party cannon

"Aye aye, Cap'n," snorted the wiry coywolf through a smarting snout. It served to accentuate his already nasally voice. He shot Habit a toothsome grin, as though he hadn't heard what the man had said—and anyway, he wasn't exactly ashamed nor proud of his heritage—and curtsied in whatever awkward manner a canine could manage. "Enjoy ye chum, sharkbait," he teased before skipping off down the hill, scraggly tail flying, in search of some other pleasure.