Wapun Meadow 고기를 먹고 싶어 샤샤샤

The serpent wolf bent his noble muzzle in gracious acceptance of Coelacanth’s submissiveness, and her long tail sketched a signature of shyness that beat against the medial aspect of her slim hocks as her tufted ears skimmed back against her finely-sculpted skull. His fiery gaze enchanted her; reminiscent of Corten’s eyes and the eyes of his descendents — reminiscent of her beloved Amoxtli’s eyes — it somehow remained different, wholly Kierkegaard’s own, lit from a different fire. He closed the distance, drawing near to her on legs that dwarfed her own, and lowered his head to level a quiet, intense gaze at her. It was an inviting gaze, but her breath caught nervously in her throat as she regarded him bashfully; her seablue eyes crept upward by degrees — the tip of his nose, the bridge of his muzzle, and finally with a few darting false starts his smoldering eyes. She held his piercing stare for only a few seconds before turning her attention then to her meal, dispatching it with ladylike delicacy.

Licking the blood from her lips, she looked upon the wolf before her with wide and innocent eyes. She was curious about him, but lacked the wherewithal to ask him for his story. Her tall, feathery ears pressed forward upon her velveteen crown as she watched him without fear — he had given her no sign that he was a threat, and thus in her naïveté she believed him to be trustworthy straight out of the gate. Tilting her head first to one side, then the other, in a decidedly doggish manner, she purred at him — a soft fluttering of sound without any particular tone, like the whirring wings of a seabird as it flies against the wind — and dipped her muzzle low in gratitude, nosing at the brittle bones of the pesky rabbit who had eluded her most of the day. Her eyes slid from his ruggedly handsome features to the territory border that stood just behind him, and she danced her forepaws entreatingly — remembering from her meeting with Marbas that touching might be a mistake — with another quizzical tilt of her head and an airy whine that carried just the faintest whisper of an upward inflection. Were they his borders?