Gilded Bay When you gonna get grown?

Her eyes remained on the skies, tracking the black tip of the gull's wing as it flapped past, long enough that she may well have never noticed Raptor if he hadn't spoken up. Jet ears flashed backward when his voice rose from the sand and she paused mid-stride, her hackles flaring with momentary irritation. She turned slowly to meet the rogue head-on, expression a hearty mixture of Get The Hell Away From Me mixed with The Fuck Do You Want, and when his crab breath washed over her, she pinned back her ears and made a face.

"Look, it's not for sale," she informed the masked wolf, taking him immediately for a rapscallion in search of a little bit of fun at her expense. Wylla simply wasn't the type to engage in such nonsense, and she neatly punctuated her statement with a flip of her mottled tail as she turned sidelong in hopes of deterring him from whatever it was he wanted from her.