Twisted Slough my life is a play, is a play

Oh?

He echoed the girl's words with malicious amusement, intending for himself to be hidden somewhere out of her sight before speaking, then striding into view. A cliche, he supposed, that always worked in stories and tall tales, but when put in the context of real life, it always produced interesting results. 

She was small and slight, curvaecously packed into one little hybrid package. It reminded him of a thin-furred, svelte boy that he had warded so long ago. Perhaps that was why he was drawn to her, wafting over to her like a thick fog. He smirked at her curled form, focused on her bright...pink? Her eyes were pink, but she was not pale white. She was just as russet as any other coyote or coywolf. He merely observed her then, waiting for her to speak or move and react to his presence.