Wheeling Gull Isle don't be cautious, don't be kind

As per usual for the dark-masked raven, she did not demand any submission from her packmate — not only was it not her place, she remembered how it felt to be beneath Laurel, beneath Indra.

Her tail began to beat a tattoo against her hocks as she whuffed, her feet pitterpattering in the sand as she began to playfully jack-knife towards the newcomer.  Her vocalizations were inviting and playful, and her rear wagged behind her.