Mount Apikuni don't go out tonight

it is odd, her submission. not coupled with skittishness or fear, but rather conducted cooly and perfectly. his stomach grazes the ground and her gaze moves up to his chin, pushing carefully up so that she perches upon her hindquarters, dwarfed easily by the stranger. they are alike in thinness yet not in height; her's approaches that of a dog. 

"ok." firm, crisp, enunciated in an accent tangible even in the simple syllable. her meekness does not falter, but she speaks once more. "I am Quail."  then she is silent, displaying none of the curiosity the male elicits in all his oddness, his novelty.