Silver Creek Pencils and Pens

A small smirk covered her face, bringing his own rising up to reflect back at her. She looked devilish with her own smirk, and while he wouldn't say so out loud he found it downright sexy. It fell quickly from her face, a rare but treasured thing. Her tongue seemed to somersault around the words, they fell from her lips light and airy, like the action itself should be.

"Bit more of a mouthful that way." He said, liking the way the french sounded on her tongue. "Not sure that would quite work as a nickname. I remember the packs used to greet with a word... bonejor, for hello, right?" His ears flicked backwards in an embarrassed fashion as the word fell from his lips. He was sure he'd butchered it. He began trying to recall any and every word he'd heard the wolves say. His mother had encouraged him to learn, telling him that he might one day mate with a female from the french packs. He knew she'd be delighted to know that she may very well have been right. Mother knows best.

The moment that thought crossed his mind he flushed inwardly, though did not let it reflect without. He was merely surprised by how easily the thought of mating to Spring came to mind. They needed to know each other better, his fear whispered. He needn't go thinking such things so quickly. He swallowed, shifting on his paws.