Stutter, my Fool

Dublin didn't know what to make of the expressions that crossed the male's features, though she was no stranger to adoration. Such attention meant nothing to Dublin, however, for she had been beautiful for all her life and even at four years of age she had yet to find a mate. Even Bristol, as allergic and patchy as he had been, found someone to create a family with—though that hadn't seemed to last for very long. But these thoughts were distant, and for all they had been agonized over when Dublin had been younger, they were deeply rooted in her subconscious now.

"I am Dublin Redwood," she responded, "and if you are not of the ridge, Robur Aqua, you are dangerously close to our territory." At least, she thought he was dangerously close. If the wind was right, you could still smell the ridge wolves over the salty breeze—but she didn't know exactly where their claim ended.