we'd feed well the land, and worry the sheep

Tears strung from the little coywolf's squinted eyes -- her throat and nose burned with surprising alacrity. Hoarse was the reverberation of her lungs -- stung sharply by bitter saltwater.

Wiping snot from her muzzle, she looked up -- surprised then to hear the male's voice trouble the air. About her a wave of solemnity seemed to return -- how fickle of her to play the juvenile one moment, and grave Siren queen the next. It did not occur to her that her many roles may have seemed curious to the grey settler -- perhaps this was a lapse of judgment she would later come to recognize as undiplomatic, unprincely behavior.

She looked up to him expectantly, but said nothing. If Nakai was bold enough to ask, she surmised he would follow through with whatever his inquiry was.