Overture Downs what we lost in the fire, we'll find in the ashes

"Oh," Pipit remarked quietly, finding herself straining to remain chipper, something that had never been such a feat for her before. Silently, she reached down deep into herself and grasped at a light within she had felt was buried too long ago. It came up easier when he mentioned young children. "You're a recent father?" she perked up considerably, ears suddenly taller and her expression brightening in the waning light. She had a great love for pups, but more than this, she had a thing for good fathers. For as sweet as Pipit seemed, she was a creature bound by fire and sin— her preferred activities dealing in what she felt was forbidden to her. Nothing was forbidden; not with the right charms.

"Congratulations!" she beamed, pushing herself up into a sit, and then standing after that. Her daintiness made her seem small, even compared to an averagely-sized wolf as he, and she bravely stepped a foot or so closer, her tail low and wagging in kind meaning. Away from the blood of the rabbit, she caught his aroma. There were many others on his pelt, but they had faded slightly through his recent travels. She had caught him at an opportune time, and Pipit was not keen to squander it. "How many? Boys? Girls?" she asked in dulcet tones, coming nearer still with each syllable.