Wheeling Gull Isle if only time flew like a dove

Although she lacked the presence of mind to forumlate a proper response, Moorhen understood what it was he said to her, then - even through the slight stutter and surprise. "Jeg gjør ikke," she said in a somewhat sulky voice, wondering where he'd gotten that idea. They'd hardly spoken! And although she did not usually seek him out or go out of the way to acknowledge him, she did have respect for him and for what he contributed to the pack. Did he not realize that? How many of her other packmates might feel the same way?

Her ears fell back in dismay, only to press forward intently at his next declaration. "Me?" she squeaked, half charmed and half scandalized by such a thought. "You say I am stan-staun-ning?" Her eyes were almost comically wide as she tried to process this, wondering if Driftwood had always thought this or if it was a new development, and mostly she just wanted to scream STOP LOOKING AT ME because no one had given him permission to enjoy her physical features in this way! Somehow, it had never occured to Moorhen that she might be pretty or ugly or desireable or anything in between. The idea of someone looking at her any seeing anything other than Moorhen, plain and simple, was incredibly difficult to wrap her head around.

But she was suddenly very sure that she liked being pretty - stunning? Whatever. It was a heady feeling and she didn't know whether to preen like and idiot or run away like an idiot, but either way, she was going to be an idiot.

"No one has sayed to me staunning before," she said meekly, trying to explain what she knew was probably a highly emotional expression as it writ itself across her face.