Sun Mote Copse broken bottles arranged to make tea

The boy blinked owlishly at his father. "He's not?" Primrose echoed, head tipping to the side. "But he's brown like them, and-and-and his eyes!" Turning back to his father the boy then cuffed a paw upwards, begging for the man to lean down towards his level to whisper "and he's mean like them too... he said a bad word..."

Primrose knew that other wolves in Firebirds tended to have a fowl mouth—mostly Towma, but he loved her and she was always nice to him despite the words that fell out of her mouth...er....well—her lips and signals. But this wolf—this man was unknown, and Primrose had only ever seen the dark coloring among their mean neighbors.

Tentatively, the pale boy inched closer to the man with head down and tail up, his nose sniffing enthusiastically at the air in hopes to be proved wrong—which he was. The male smelled like Firebirds.

Biting his lip, Primrose scowled at the earth on what to do before swallowing his thick shame and returning his gaze to the man like a guilty child. "Im PrimroseWhoAreYou?!" He screamed a bit too loudly and quickly.