Seaside Moors Come join me. My garden needs tending.

A scent on the wind caught the dark wolf's attention, and he paused in the river to turn his head toward the two bright and lovely beings that stood together on a distant hillock. Though they were yet far and undistinguished apart from color - milk and flame - Dagfinn was already smitted by the excotic scents of the wolves of this land, and by their readily apparent diminutive statures. He'd tower above them both, if they allowed him to draw near, and wouldn't that be a sight? Coal and milk and flame - poetic.

Dag was a hopless romantic, at heart.

"Ah, sweet cherry flame - you dance even in stillness!" he called to the one, drawing himself out of the water and moving toward them, sopping wet. To the other, he seranaded, "And elfenben​, fair ivory! Like svane, your grace is undeniable."

Opening his maw wide, the dark male took a deep breath and repeated the sentiment in song, switching over to his mother tongue to keep the proper flow to the impromptu song.