Sun Mote Copse I've been swimming from the Wallace

She looked busy- but not so busy that she couldn't even be bothered to greet one of the leaders of the pack. No one was ever that busy when they were simply standing around, doing...Whatever it was that Fennec was doing. Sniffing plants and pulling some out and Niamh, who had no idea which kind of plant was a weed and which was an herb was forced to assume that Fennec could tell the difference. How, though? Why was it, all of a sudden, she was taking instructions from Eljay, and tending to his garden?

A switch of the girl's ears indicated that she'd been noticed, but that was all. It was also an indication of mood, and Niamh rolled her eyes again. Was Towhee not seeing this attitude? Niamh had asked the beige girl's mother if perhaps something was going on in Fennec's life to make her so sour, or if she was merely going through the yearling phase. It wouldn't be long until the young woman inevitably became a hormonal wreck in the Springtime, and Niamh could only hope that they'd have things sorted out by then. 

"Fennec," She said, with a bit more force now. The cheerful expression on her face had already left. She told herself to relax. Had Bronco been the one turning his back to her, and flicking his ears back in annoyance, she would have simply barrelled straight into him to teach him a lesson about impudence. But this wasn't her son- this wasn't her child at all. She tried to soften herself again, giving her shoulders a roll as she closed the gap between them; she was sure Fennec knew by now that there wasn't any point in dashing away from the Regent. She was cornered, and she likely knew it.  "How d'you know which ones're the right ones to pull out?" She asked. Perhaps a bit of a peace offering. "They all smell like plant to me," She said with a soft chuff. She leaned forward to sniff at one, and recoiled. "Ugh, 'cept that one, that one reeks," She said, having discovered a sprig of spearmint that had survived the flood.