Redsand Canyon restless

So they did speak the common tongue. Phocion had heard tales of coyotes with garbled language, unable to communicate properly with their betters. He pondered this thought for a short moment, before her words sank in.

The white priest lifted his lips in a smirk that might have been read as receptive, but he was really trying to stifle laughter. Perhaps in his younger days, a budding temptress with honeyed speech could have tempted him, but those days were long in the past, and so her attempts were met with mild derision. But he had his manners, and he gave a gracious dip of his muzzle to her.

"If I am so big and strong, why should I have need of a pack?" Phocion shot back, a chuckle caught in his throat. It was ridiculous, really; he was smaller than most women, and fine-boned as a songbird. He cast his gaze round to look for Cortland, who should be nearby somewhere, before letting it rest once more on the woman in silent question.