Sawtooth Spire i'm bound by these choices so hard to make

after their official commencement as sagtannet wolves, one would assume the ‘cherubs’ would be totally bushed. maybe so, for thade. as for phaedra? her dreamscapes were always vignetted by the longing for adventures in the waking world, and she was easily roused from the drip-tap of sleep that kept her snugly crescented against her brother’s warmth.
before mother could even finish her invocation for anarchy, her child was already prancing on the balls of her feet athwart the den’s entranceway. when the cool breeze raked through her fur, she glanced up at the blue realm of clouds and fished about for birds with her gaze before returning it earthward, and lo and behold! clownfeet! she didn’t have any recall of stag's attempts to yeet her, or the ensuing wrath of wylla upon him for such an endeavor, but his smell was a memory as perennial as daffodil bulbs and she belted a tinkling giggle as she tottered over to the cold-footed candy-ass.  
soft skills were still underdeveloped, clearly, because she marched right over without any deferential posturing or permission to frisk his person. perhaps ... she would have felt the need to do so if their guest wasn’t a milksop just scuffing his paw in the dirt. yeesh! what sort of impotent stirps had begotten this—? 
well, all decorum or-lack-thereof aside, with a happy tail that shimmied her entire backside, phaedra rocked on her feet and tried to meet his eyes with a charming smile.
any personal space stag may have possessed was promptly violated and unless he punted her away, she would thread through his beanstalk legs, canvassing every inch of him with an inquisitive, ticklish nose. from his forelegs, to his armpits, and coursing down the slope of his sternum towards, well—
 that had to be from when he had his own puppies. right. how disappointing. any milk left to plunder, i wonder? she reached out to touch the shriveled teat with her nose.