Wheeling Gull Isle kiss me like that

Grayling and his sister were a study in opposites.  Not only in appearance -- colored as he was like ice-clad stone whilst she bore the shades of sunshine and honey -- but in personality as well.  Thresher was a quiet beauty, thoughtful and considering of every sound she made, every step she took.  She was an intelligent girl, perhaps already beyond her tender age, and one could tell with just a glance that she understood more about the world around her than she let on.

Grayling, by contrast, was a metaphorical bull in a china shop.  He was loud and boistrous, energetic, fearless, and nosy as hell.  He liked finding trouble and getting chest-deep into it, and his parents' chidings rolled off of him like a bead of water off the well-oiled back of a duck.  His skull was thicker than concrete, it seemed, and he often acted without any consideration for consequences.  The colors of his fur were beginning to develop a depth of hue to them, the greys and blacks becoming more differentiated as he grew larger.  His eyes had begun to transition, as well, shards of darker turquoise beginning to freckle the stormwater blue of infancy.  

He was learning to talk, and was more than happy to do the talking for all of his siblings.  "Mahhhmee!" he trilled with delight at the sight of her head and neck darting, birdlike, into the water's shimmering depths.  The prize she dropped on the shore for them gleamed brilliantly and wriggled with vigor and life, and Grayling was excited by it.  "A fush!"  He sprang toward the creature, completely unaware of the wolf who approached them, and pawed at it playfully.  The few forceful slaps he received across the snout from the fish's thrashing tail didn't deter him at all.