Dragoncrest Cliffs he could hardly speak.

you not a cub, jadou responds matter-of-factly, licking his chops as a little hiccup seizes his diaphragm. because of course she meant who gave him the food, not where it came from, right? you be old.
satisfied, he struts toward her and flops down at her side, fighting away the post-treatie-drowsiness with a bat of his lashes. he cranes his neck to look at the dark-lashed face of sobeille, studying the long train of midnight black which cupped her eyes and snout.
because he never got his fill of annoying questions, he proceeds to chitter; why you look like dat? as he raises a plump paw to gesture at her face. maman not black. where you git dat from?