Northstar Vale tea leaves

Tamar. 

Pretty, the coywolf thought. He tucked the name away in the back of his mind the way he tucked colorful feathers into Reverie's hollow. 

When he looked at her, he couldn't help seeing her mixed heritage before anything else. No one likes coywolves (except Dusty was beginning to think this wasn't always true) and she was very obviously a coywolf. He wondered what sort of discrimination she'd faced, and then wondered what sort of creature these things had made her into. She seemed sweet, to him. Soft.

He danced closer, his tail still wheeling at his hocks. The way he looked at her, though — not unpleasantly, for he did not intend to have an unpleasant time. But it was the way he looked at a rabbit when he wasn't hungry enough to hunt. The way that he sometimes looked at Reverie's daughters — with interest, with curious intent, with the knowledge that it was not polite to bite them but without any of the natural inhibition that stopped others from doing so.

Dusty Rose did not lunge for the woman yet. He thought he might want to play. Tamar was too big to play with without her cooperation.

"You've got people here?" he asked her, circling her to try and get a better look. He hadn't seen another coywolf since he'd left his own family behind. It was nostalgic to look upon her. It was uncanny.