Otter Creek the art of the fox

his jaws were nice -- ample specimens that showed the dedicated precocity of their species. inwardly, the little songbird squirmed. she was a stupid girl to get herself into this position, though she was too defiant now to show him she was not able to play his game.

his muzzle on her ear, however, nearly withered her -- the heat of his breath alarming as it flushed down her sensitive lobes. 'no thanks!!' inner songbird shrieked. 'gotta go!!!' inner songbird's self-preservation bleated. starling stayed put.

not even batting an eye, she turned her mossgreen gaze upon him. "no thanks. i don't care for tiny things" the songbird issued smoothly, in the precisely calm manner of a serpent's strike. (or so she hoped.)