The Sunspire rather than pictures, i prefer filled palettes, diaries, & times i was asleep

the wolfdog is met with a response that he finds confusing. The pale beauty grasps her kill without uttering a noise, her jaws clenched firmy giving him the unmistakable knowing that her intent is not to even consider sharing. Instincts of hunger urge him to fall into the dangerous pit of aggression, of challenging the smaller fae for the pheasant she so ardently holds.

And yet he is overwhelmed by the somewhat annoying goodness within his heart. His speechless open jaw closes at last before he tries again to speak to her (remaining all the while doubtful of a response.) 

I do not intend to challenge you for your meal. He confesses, honesty in his words which he hopes are not mistaken for trickery of any kind. I wish simply to explore. Perhaps find a meal of my own. What, he wonders, is there left to say which might lead her to drop the pheasant and talk to him?

My name is Jigsaw. I'm new to these mountains.