Dragoncrest Cliffs red or black, yellow, red, black, white, dirty

tousaint surged ahead, his fur shimmering as if a horse’s in victory lap; for all his athleticism, he sure didn’t get it from val.

val pulled up with a grin, oblivious to the dissent of both children as he rifled through their fur. fur was for roughing up anyway, right?

he fixed tousaint with a deadpan expression, scoffing. of course i know where they come from — the parsley patch. that is where me and your maman picked you — another noogie embrace towards tousaint — and you — he feinted a noogie in thibault’s direction before resting on his heels. no health class needed.

his soft laugh spilled into the air shortly after thibault’s. he hoped they knew he said this in jest, and he wished @Ceridwin was there to catch in on the joke. your grandmame never found me under a stink rock. she found me in a cave. val’s eyes loomed close in storytelling theatric. grandme was a wonderful woman. they both were. he sighed, a little wistful as he motioned for them to look out at the dark waves sounding below. grandme rosalyn was a fierce fighter. she was a war captive once, you know. a great and terrible battle happened on these cliffs, but she and grandme erzulie won. grandme erzulie clever — she had more knowledge in the tip of her nose than most wolves have in their body. she is also where we get our dashing looks from.

for a time, the three of them watched the sea, and val's heart was full.