Deepwood Weald arctocephalus

The fur at his nape prickled as Sulukinak began to open up with an anecdote from her childhood. He could scare himself with such tales, he thought! And perhaps he would weave it into a story one day — but not, perhaps, until Sulukinak had spent a little more time in the light.

Her tone did not strike him as odd. She was a girl to him already, if not by age then by her demeanor. This was why he was determined to bring her home, where he could tuck her into the rest of his fold. She might get on well with Fallen Sun, he thought, and Ariadne's kindness would surely be a boon to her.

"Will you tell me some?" he asked her, cupping an ear in her direction while the other remained on the swivel. "I am a weaver of words by trade. I am always looking for new tales to tell."