Bearclaw Valley extraordinarily pretty teeth, beauty lingers out of reach

friendship was something alien to the feral woman; she'd had precious little contact with other individuals, lucky enough to understand body language lest she be entirely incapable of communication.  but whatever was between them, this.. not wanting to leave, allowing herself to be led, she liked.

he seemed confused by her sudden burst of energy, and she so desperately wanted to express to him what she felt.  good, happy!  but maybe he understood it a bit because something seemed to click, as the large alabaster man initiates play.

it is a funny sight; he is twice her size and much more full than her angular, sculpted self.  the second time he came close to her face, she bared her fangs in a mock-snarl, knocking him gently with her eye teeth.

then she darted out, doing more hairpin turns as she brushed herself against the trees — this is mine! my place! my trees! — before barreling towards his back, nipping at his hocks.  she hoped she could confuse him, wear him out, because this was a game and she didn't like to lose, oh no.