Fox's Glade Impulse

the beardog came no farther from the thick underbrush from which she emerged, seating herself upon her haunches for a conversation.

she joined in with the younger one's chuckle, albeit her own was a deeper rumble.

"such want for violence. as expected of your kind." it was praise, borne of sincere admiration for the lifestyle of wolvenkind - albeit her flat tone might not have conveyed so at all.

her maws parted again, to interview the other about their sexual preference, as she thought that'd make for a fascinating and casual topic of conversation, when a third voice interrupted them.

she knew this one by scent and howl, and from those times she'd emerge from the thick woods nestled between mosskeep and the mountains to partake in communal meals (always last, which she did not mind).

but she knew their age and demeanor, from their calls (all of which the dog paid close attention to, as part of her studies) and posturing - and she determined them a fool, imitating that which they are not, making them a poor devotee to a deity as absolute as the bear.

his challenge did not work to rile up the chow, who reacted to it by stretching her back, sliding her legs forward and lowering her head to the debris-softened ground, making herself resemble a dark, odd bush.

"you presume. i don't think of you at great lengths." she stretched her limbs again. "it's not my opinion that should concern you."

her great head gestured at the one that summoned them.

"this one's matters more."