Sun Mote Copse beware the jubjub bird, and shun

She beamed when her uncle said he liked her gifts, her coal black eyes crinkling at the corners and her lips skinning back from her tiny, sharp teeth. Colt asked her about a treasure for herself and the grin slipped away, replaced by a more inquisitive expression, which then became less curious and more puzzled.

"Presents!" Sugar reminded him, huffing in affectionate exasperation.

In the next moment, the pup queried, "Do yer boo-boos hurt? Lots?" Her little pink nose wriggled as she sniffed toward him, noting the scents of his wounds. It was not unlike the bloody meat her parents brought her to eat, though surely they did not intend to devour Colt. He didn't look particularly appetizing, in any case.