Fox's Glade silvertongue

The reply was uttered in the form of a skeptical, single-worded question. The coywolf wondered if it would have been offensive to her to suggest that it was an ideal trait, this flaw. His dying firelit gaze followed her body language with a precision unmatched, seeing that she had relaxed under the light of his remark. Of course, Tadec did not wish to have her feel as though he had been facetious in his comment. The slender halfling made an encouraging bob of his head and a further wagging of his tail to suggest that he offered her only a genuine form of companionship.
 
The moonlighter extended his neck to sniff at her, noting the familiarity of the scent that clung to her blush coat. It was the same that he had gathered from the other pack wolves who had crossed him in the nearby territories. If he had thought any further on it, Tadec would have been bothered that he had shared the light with so many of their undesirable kind. In spite of this, he had not yet found a creature quite like Indra in appearance, and she had compelled him to a cordial state of mind. The spindly thing only wanted to know her deeper.
 
“You like dying sun in sky,” he then told her, motioning to her plush pelt. “Tail make you look fierce.” Then, as though to affirm this intuition, Tadec puffed his chest some and forced himself to stand a little taller; it was a mimicry, if anything. He was nothing more than a moonlighter on stilted limbs than he was a strong sort of fellow. The wild thing was more a rogue than a knight. This did not mean he was incapable of admiring the attribute in others.