Fox's Glade Frolicking In The Meadowsss

Once the wolf was free of the trees it was possible to see him, to observe the man's deep chest expand and contract with his many breaths; before long his heart had returned to an average pace and he had no shortness of breath, perhaps a clue towards his good health (certainly his athleticism). The birds made one collective twist together and returned to their forest, settling with their many layered calls among the trees.

The man wanted to dive in to the woods again and keep playing this game; he took a deep breath and stretched, joints clicking softly as he worked his wiry limbs, then shook off - mentally prepping for another bolt at the grove of trees - but then he noticed a pale shape not far off. The longer he focused on it the more canine it presented. He realized that it was a wolf and they were cowering against the ground. Briefly their eyes met; she became a bit bolder and approached to investigate, and the swarthy boy merely smiled for her.

Dia duit ansin! He called to her; for now the game of chasing the birds was waylayed. Any man worth his soul knew to be courteous when beautiful women came crawling out of the woodwork. Boyt ye miss? So'tiz a gran' day ter be oyt an' aboyt, aye?