Wapun Meadow it isn't about the stuff

She kept her tail kinked high at a bossy angle she preferred to think of as authoritative and businesslike. She cleared her throat impatiently and pinned him with an assertive eye lasering him through with a you better hurry up there or ELSE look, and then backed off a few hairs and watched both haughtily and approvingly as he followed her instructions. Her high, stiff tail even unkinked itself slightly to give a small brief wag, and the hint of a smile played about the corners of her lips. But she still couldn't help but add pushily, And make sure you get the spot right up there on your left flank, too! Euw! She pointed her long needlenose at the patch in question, which may or may not have actually had any filth remaining on it but nonetheless Brouhaha wanted to be sure.

Well, that and flexing her muscles of authority with someone young and meek enough to capitulate to her bullying was kinda fun she had to admit. It was probably a good thing her own mother wasn't here to see this; Brou could understand a little better why Arbiter liked throwing orders around so, now. (Not that she was really any more inclined to pay attention to them now, mind you, but she could at least comprehend some of that heady power high that came along with them, ey? Why else would somewolf bother, after all? Simply making things orderly and predictable and safe was surely far too boring an answer to be true, after all.)

...Scrub harder, barked Brou, a little more snappishly than was truly warranted, especially since it wasn't as if Charles here had actually challenged any of her orders in any real way—but, well, thinking of her mother made Brou a little crabby, and Charles here was such a convenient target who seemed unlikely to punch back at her. Now that she was paying a little more attention to the outer world rather than the inner, however, Brou's attention was diverted from her target of convenience to the small muddy shadow that seemed to be flickering and wending its way toward Charles's unsuspecting rump, slowly but surely. Huh, mumbled Brou softly as she squinted and leaned in a bit closer to try and ascertain what it was. She didn't consciously decide not to warn Charles; it was just that, well, he didn't seem the sort to take decisive action in any case. On some level her subconscious had firmly slotted him into the category not just of being able to be pushed around by her orders but somehow now also actively needing them. Thus without ever truly thinking it through her mind was settled that Brou herself had better figure out what was up first, and then she could tell this Charles boy what if anything to do about it.