Dragoncrest Cliffs & waves don't make a sailor of me,

Her own voice came languidly, tinged with a foreignness and undoubtedly vexed, ”Then teach me, dearest kru, so I may ascend to be as unparalleled as they.” With that, the pale she-wolf’s head snapped up, wringing sand and salt from her snowy ruff before fixing the feispera with a bemused gaze. Lashes narrowed just as his own had, but the soft, cheeky curl of her lips said otherwise; the red hurts that spiderwebbed along her façade said otherwise still.

Feathering her tail along draped hinds, she leaned forward in admiration—both parts mocking and genuine. ”You are champion at this, are you not?” Slim brows lifted imploringly, mouth parting in a little ’o’ of intrigue as her gaze bored brassily into the cornflower-topaz of the creamed one. 

Her attitude, the suddenness of it all, was usually jarring to most who didn’t know her, much less meet her. If it had to be explained with the male before her, it was less of a challenge, and more of a plea for tutelage. ...Of course, to him, to others, it may have seemed the other way around entirely. In the meantime, the hare of a she-wolf watched him expectantly, utterly impish—to bite at her with words, or a bird.