Blackfeather Woods Zero fawks given

nudges were definitely not enough to settle the darkling, but after a few over-exuberant licks of kove's nose astara allowed herself to be subdued.. if only temporarily. there was not much discipline doled in her life, and she wriggled against the plush fur of blackfeather's patriarch as he spoke.

language was something the girl would likely never command; not verbally, anyway -- her mother's tongue was that of the body and mind, and that, astara would speak with a keen and practiced ease. yet words meant little to her, though she recognized the pattern of tones that signified her was referring to her. she looked up to him, canting her head all the way back on her brittle neck, her ears flopping absurdly on her back as she gave him a wide beam and then leapt for his nose again like a little piranha.