Cedar Sweep The wrath of God in a bottle.

 

Ceallach paused when he heard another voice call out towards him, the hello as tell-tale of a greeting as possible. It was quite different to his mother's boisterous greeting of habit but still, Ceallach lifted his head a bit with a certain measure of regality. When he turned to face the stranger he was for a moment taken aback by the sheer beauty of the pale coat and uniquely haunting color of her eyes. Most of Teaghlaigh boasted a darker pelt, Ceallach being a unique amalgamation of his parents in his appearance. Hemlock was no doubt the most brilliantly coated of them, but, that was a different heritage than he could understand. "Hello," He greeted smoothly, trying to seem as prestigious as his eloquent parents and trying to keep his voice from doing that horrible scratchy-squeaky thing. 

"My name is Ceallach Fearghal," He offered with a thin smile, his eyes flashing as he glanced her over again. She didn't seem injured, and she was rather small; it made it hard to tell how old she might have been to a boy who was still gauging age by size comparative to his own. "Do you live near here?" He asked after a moment, giving the slightest wave of his tail to try and be friendly and not seem too awkward in his question.