Sun Mote Copse Don't tell me what the poets are doin'

"Oops!" Niamh blurted, surprised when Meerkat suddenly recoiled, having been prickled by one of her whiskers. She chuckled softly as the child recovered from the sensation and pressed up against the soft spot just below her nose, and she reveled in the fresh, baby-scent that made her instincts flutter, like a murmuration of sparrows lifting from the trees. She gently moved her muzzle from side to side when the puppy placed her cheek against her lips, and rumbled a soft, friendly greeting, allowing her warm breath to fan over the child's body. 

She moved her muzzle up over Meerkat's short, rounded temple and down her shoulders, trailing along her spine, and then repeated the motion, reveling in the softness of the child's fur without pressing down too hard. She chuckled softly, nosing her lips against she child's side, where she blew air through her relaxed, but softly closed lips, effectively blowing a warm, wet raspberry against the kid's side for fun.