Lost Creek Hollow if you want, you can marry

the funny thing about baby-babble, is that only they seem to understand it. for whatever reason, children shared a universal language not understood by adults. ashlar's babbles, unintelligible to anyone not cool enough to be a baby, were perfectly understood by sionnach -- she even launched into her own squealing speech, babbling with authority towards the brown puppy, happy to have a conversation with a like-minded individual.

rolling in the grass, sionnach rose proudly and looked at her work. her fur was smeared with dirt, and a sickly green stained her feet and back. tufts of grass stuck out like quills from the mud that caked her back like armor; this was good work, indeed.

babbling still, sionnach inspected ashlar's work too. of course, it was of an inferior quality - he lacked the pelt color she did, so the change was not quite so remarkable. sniffing ashlar's face with a playful, wet nose, sionnach brushed right by the tyke and started splashing in the mud anew.