Dragoncrest Cliffs [m] salt plying

The old wolf turned to her, letting his muzzle catch against her temple before pulling away to see her eyes. A grin pulled at his lips, large enough to reveal his worn back teeth, some no more than an ivory stub. But there was no malice in his expression, and his often tired eyes were bright for her—maybe a reflection of her youth. 

He tightened into a smile and briefly shook his head. 

”Naw, darlin’. Spoke to Mireille ‘n yer mother this mornin’. I think they might even be happy about it.” 

He let his tail wag, softened expression never fading. He would be gentle, now. They’d have plenty of time to explore other things in a moment. 

”But, uh..” his tail stopped. ”What made you want to come ‘n find me? I mean, I’m old enough to be yer grandpa. And years ain’t exactly been kind to my appearance.” 

Scars on top of scars, a fucked up smile, a coat that, on top of being washed with grey, all out refused to lay flat. Sure, he might’ve been a looker in the past, but he was far from it these days. 

She didn’t really need a reason. And he didn’t need to hear one. But he was curious.