Dragoncrest Cliffs Donnez-moi une suite au Ritz, je n'en veux pas

The little wolf version of Pigpen sat, disturbing a puff of dust that caused Tousaint to tense and snort. He recoiled slightly, like a snake getting ready to strike, still clutching the prized gift to his chest. His sister's expression shifted to a near-lecherous gaze; Tousaint's pupils narrowed with just suspicion. He considered calling out so that she might be spooked off, or calling for Val who he felt would certainly prevent Miette from spoiling the thoughtful gift he had brought. He considered grabbing it and bolting, though he felt certain it might get snagged or damaged in the process. He pondered the brush's likely fate and tried not to sigh. If it wanted it kept perfect, he would have to stash it somewhere that not even he could revisit. Anything to keep it out of her grubby paws. 

He was, however, slightly appeased by her flattery. "Natirèlman. Se poutèt sa Val ban mwen li. Li bèl, jis tankou mwen." He boasted. He tottered his head from side to side, revealing the white tip of the fox brush for just a second before he brought his second paw across the front of himself, clinging to it even tighter. "Mwen pas sot," He said. "Ou pa gen dwa manyen li. Si pou mwen," He said, a childish snarl to his voice.