Wheeling Gull Isle if only time flew like a dove

Fortunately for them both (and for mixed and Bryndel), Moorhen had not interacted with enough wolves in this way to think it odd. Her tail wheeled intently above them as she sought to dominate the other, covering her body with his and grizzling so frequently it sounded more like a continuous purr. Her ruddy eyes flashed with an air of superiority, but there was affection there, too, and a carefree sort of happiness that was not often present in his dark features.

Drift give up? she asked with another wag of her tail, dipping her head with a wide, gaping grin to aim a few gentle chomps at his muzzle and neck. Her teeth left no marks upon him, but her message was still clear: I win.

His words seemed conciliatory enough, but she required a clearer surrender from him both because of her ego and her poor comprehension of the common tongue. They could worry about sand later, when victory was not at stake. Just to up the ante, Moorhen pressed more of her significant weight down upon him and let loose another fearsome play-growl.