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

Though Pipit was perhaps the prissiest and most vain of her siblings, this wasn't say much when it became compared to her true wildness. The girl was rowdy and fearless— a pink-dressed princess with a sword and shield. She wasn't to be deterred by the unnamed wolf's superior musculature. If anything, it invigorated her, causing her to throw caution to the wind as she was practically thrown off the mottled grey like a flimsy rodeo clown. She laughed even as she hit the ground, trying to scramble back to her feet, but was unsuccessful as the oppressive weight of her playmate descended upon her with a vengeance.

He was rather ungentle with her, though Pipit seemed (almost masochistically) to be enjoying the roughhouse anyway. She laughed as if he were tickling her, and she rolled onto her side so that she might gnaw defensively on his foreleg. She'd never be able to get from beneath him unless he allowed it, but she didn't seem very eager to be free of him just yet a any rate. She squirmed and writhed under him, rejoicing in his closeness with groaning whine-growls as she rolled onto her back and began to jaw-spar with him.