Wheeling Gull Isle still cutting shapes

Ana was never sure how to return Caracal's displays of affection. She understood in her own way that the faces he made, the activities he proposed, were his ways of showing warmth. This was foreign to the girl, who had been the least loved of her littermates on the day of their birth. She enjoyed it in the way one might enjoy the sound of a language they'll never speak.

Eager to feel more of this oddness, she clicked her agreement. Her eyes were large and watchful, faithfully following each of Caracal's movements, his changes in expression. She wouldn't move until he did.