Totoka River made flesh [m]

head oblique and with a speculative glint in his gaze, bartok minded the wolf before him with self-preservation directing his conduct. he had enough victims (and thus, victories) under his belt to know indignation when he spied it – here, there was blatant irritation dwelling. nothing unexpected; #diebird was totally a trending tag on this bird's twitter.

he could only presume that he knew what creature this muss-furred brute sought to abide him. this was the threshold to her domicile and the raven had witnessed her spurn countless others like him; spurn their claims over her; spurn their quenchless thirst and provide further aridity in their lecherous throats. no milder climate would befall him – what set this interloper apart from the other profligates crowding the siren queen's seaweed garnished tower?

quoth the raven furthermore, his possessiveness over the soot-crowned coywolf would not allow lasher easy access. to have positive attention stolen from him? they would pry it from his scaly, cold, dead, rigor mortis-set talons.

"more interest from you than me, dog," his voice creaked with deliberate modulation, the wolf's aggravation striking the flint of cruel humor ignited upon his expression. "but if he insists–" bartok took to a nearby treelimb, prepared to relieve him if this wolf was so resolved to his deathless venereal frustrations that he would send away his only connection to the female. "bartok will re-direct storm path, away from dog, away she goes, faar faaaar away." he taunted.