Morningside Cuesta song sung blue

It was a fitting name for one who seemed so delicate. Flowers did not last very long along the bay, but as they were much further inland, the erne felt little urge to correct this softness. In her memories, this was a place where she had been allowed to be soft. To be a girl. Even when she'd been claimed as a wife, she had been treated very gently. Nurtured.

For the girl that she'd once been, Moorhen held herself still and allowed the nearness of this girl. Petal. It was a pretty name, to be sure.

"Moor," she offered, and then, with a no-nonsense shake of her pelt, she decided that she'd had enough of being sniffed. But in the next moment, nonsense began in earnest. The aging woman spun to snatch up the rabbit and spun again to bow to the younger shewolf, ass in the air and tail wheeling in invitation.

She gave a mock growl to challenge Petal to a game of keep away — or tug of war, if she was quick enough.