Coconut Grove Wash him deep where the tides are turning

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Rather than stepping forward to investigate, as he thought was most natural, the she-wolf instead insisted on verbal conversation. He inclined his head slightly, conceding for the moment. “Tytonidae,” he repeated in a thoughtful drawl; “I am called Grievous.” He stepped forward then, ears pressed forward and twitching nose outstretched in a clear eagerness to learn from her what he could by use of his best sense. Suddenly he thinks to ask her permission, glancing from her ruff— which was his nose’s target— to her true-green eyes... but his body had already come halfway through the motion, so he abandons the afterthought of his manners with ease.

Uninvited, he carefully side-stepped to her right and arched his muzzle intrusively towards her nape with the intent to touch. Across the smooth, dark line of the female’s back, sharp eyes briefly spy a pale swathe in the distance.

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