Blackbeak Bluff Now you can't not throw it

Her mood was featherlight. Each breath she inhaled fueled her, and while she was not at the cliffs that she knew best, she still blossomed in the saltwind that coursed through her pelt. The constant crash and pull of waves in the distance kept her grounded; it was like a heartbeat that calmed her. 

The wolf who spoke up caught her attention, and with bright eyes and a waving tail she turned and began to scout in the darkness to see him. His silhouette blocked out the stars along the horizon behind him and from what she could see, he was tall. He bore scars, and the scent of other wolves. Perhaps he was moored to a pack, but it did not smell like any that raised a red flag in her mind. He smelled of forest, of elk and earth. His eyes were bright, but in them she saw no demon. 

He was drawn in by her song and rewarded with a smile. She dipped into a playbow, and yipped, to see just how receptive he was to her spirited invite.