Fox's Glade ab iniquitate [m]ea

she did not leave the treeline, letting the stranger approach. eyes shadowed beneath the awning of thick brows observed him, the form of him. she recognised the dog in his shape, mixed evenly with features of the wolf. when he approached, she would explore him in detail, noting the doggish tuck of his waist and the lines of his face which spoke of a wildling parent.

if, and only if, she was permitted to do so, she would drag her muzzle from his shoulder, along side of neck and to one pointed ear, where she would whisper, voice coarse with craving; "you are perfect."