Hoshor Plains of a chain reaction of countermoves

There'd been a lot of rowdiness. Valiant had spent a short while participating in the boyish frisking about going on afield — but there was only so much sprightly youth he could handle in one serving, and so he left the others to their game and returned to Moonsong's camp. Although he had committed ultimately to Moonglow, he had promised Dutch he'd look after Ariadne's pack.

This far, he didn't feel he'd done a very good job.

He found Ariadne perfumed in that sweet winter scent that drifted from all corners of the plains, lately. Even if he hadn't heard, it was plain in her scent that she was taken — and he was not of a mind to father any bastard litters this year. He hadn't yet, and it wouldn't do to start now. Still, the fragrance was enough to draw him toward her, if only because he had nothing more pressing to do.

"Miss cloudwoman," he said in greeting, his tail swishing wearily. He came near enough for the breeze to wash him in her scent before he settled down, flattening himself with a quiet huff. "I ain't a young man anymore," he lamented, but he smiled as if his misfortune amused him, pointing his nose toward the cavorting wolves. "Those boys're runnin' circles around me."

He sprawled further, watching the work of Ariadne's teeth and claws from these few yards away. "What were you singin' just now?" he asked.