Wheeling Gull Isle molotov cocktails on me like accessories

XD

The younger wolf is still quite a bit slighter than Driftwood, but that doesn't stop him from cowering down into a woodsy conglomeration of fluff that hugs the dirt as closely as it can manage on short notice, seeming ready to sink straight down into it in fact should the earth so allow. (To be fair, though, the young female does grow quite a bit larger as her fur stands indignantly on end and she looms angrily before him. Not so large that it isn't still a rather ridiculous tableau, however, to see the wilting violet Driftwood's long legs melt straight down into barely-visible stubs under her assault.) Whuh-oh...oops. What'd he say, what'd he do?! Frantically Driftwood revisits his innocent query in his mind even as his mouth scrambles not to make the same terrible mistake again.

He splutters for a few moments before his tongue is quite ready to cooperate however. I bwuh, uh— no?! SHit, was that the right answer?! That was the right answer, wasn't it?!?! I just... saw you, digging den, den-digging... you were digging a den, right?! No why would you, were you— were you digging a den?! His eyes flicker briefly, desperately behind her, trying to get another and better glimpse of the cavern beyond, wracking his brains all the while trying to think just what the heck else it could be, if it was indeed not a den being dug for birthing... The ways of young females are so mysterious, and confusing, argh! ...I'm sorry? he finally, feebly thinks to manage, as his worried and confused face latches onto hers once more before beetling away again to more-politely regard the dirt below in dismay and bafflement. The supplicant kneels before the monarch of the realm, as lowly and groveling as the very worms of the earth, and hopes her majestic fury will burn itself out just as quickly and suddenly as it flared.

Please don't bite my nose off, o kind and gentle young maiden. I need it!