Coconut Grove pineapples in her hair

So consumed with the cloying, fruity flesh was she that the incoming spirit almost went unnoticed. Again the rosy, soft tongue parted lips to dash along the smooth interior, carousing in the smooth sweetness of it all. It was unlike anything that had ever graced her lips and she loved it — but the sound of splashing caused her ears to rise, her gaze quickly following suit. 

She was not alone in her merriment, it would seem. Another woman cavorted about in a spritely bacchanal, throwing one of the strange fruits amongst the lazy winter tide. It was a spectacle different than the placid quietude from moments before and it was quite welcome. Though Olive needed, craved solitariness, she often appreciated it when her adventures were punctuated with the presence of another. Olive glanced back down at the food grasped tightly between her paws and pressed it gently with her maw, watching as the fibrous bowl rocked back and forth in the snow. Her coconut, wasted from Olive’s striking efforts with the rock, would never again bounce and roll like the woman’s did. The sylph hoisted her small frame from the ground and sauntered closer to where she played upon the frigid sand.

“Fun as they may be, they make splendid fare,” Olive greeted nonchalantly, tail lashing low between her creamy hocks in a friendly manner.