Wheeling Gull Isle renege

Her sounds became less and less playful, and yet he didn't clue in that he'd really bothered her. It was all a game, all for fun - was she really going to take it that seriously? But there was a seriousness there, a tension that Titmouse had experienced before (to a greater extent with some people) and he found himself drawn to her more than the bone in the sand, urged by a deeply rooted directive that told him to ignore the toy and focus on the playmate; he was an adult now, he shouldn't have been playing around at all!

She nipped at him, harassed him, rumbled sounds that would've normally caused him to back down or maybe even start a brawl, but that wasn't happening here. The more attention she gave him the more Titmouse wanted to return it, and he began to focus keenly upon her mottled coat rather than the bleached bone near the pile of precious sticks. He snapped at her, probed at her with his nose with small glancing buffs, eventually turning the game in to some kind of dance upon the sand — all the while murmuring in that breathy way he couldn't help, a mixture of thin laughter and something more bestial.