Arrow Lake she's a junkyard angel and she always gives me bread

a pale woman that looked vaguely familiar approached, the familiarity of her face solidified by mention of the festival. he dipped his nose in greeting, a shy smile blooming over his muzzle. cortez, he introduced himself quietly. he glanced toward his companion. olive is my sister. we're, uh, here bearing gifts. for the new and expecting mothers here.

of which you're one, he thought, nostrils flaring as he took in the distinct sweet milk-shit scent clinging to her ivory pelt. he nudged his bundle closer to her, though very willing to help carry it toward the whelping dens, should they be allowed within the territory.

some toys, for your children, cortez explained, feeling a little self-conscious that his gifts weren't as useful or pretty as his sister's. a bone to wrestle with, and some feathers. . .soft things to cuddle. i thought i heard from someone that there was another woman or two here, with pups? or at least, pups on the way? he canted his head in gentle query, champagne eyes warm as they met aure's.