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

Pipit was glad when he found no offense in her forwardness. Some wolves took her brazen charm for a ploy, when in all actuality she just craved the attention and closeness. And the more forbidden it was, the better. Surely he had the kids to flee to, and a mother of them that was waiting for her wayward husband to return, but it all fell away in a game he seemed eager to play— and the daring and darling Pipit was more than happy to oblige.

She yipped gleefully as his cold nose briefly found flesh beneath the the down of her shoulderfur, and the two danced away from one another; Pipit turning in a dancer's spin, as the giddy father took to beating the ground in a barefaced display of riled sinew. She was quick to dart near again, immodest as she freely challenged him back with a needy whine and a filly-like head toss as she tried delightedly to circle him. Pipit was a fast wolf, tagging him here and there with a brave muzzle, before scampering down the grassy knoll as a fairy's laugh trickled from her lips to beckon him.