Oystercatcher Tide Pools and the devil makes three

Huh. His jaw slackened and his expression opened as he feigned shock. The thanks I get fer savin' yer hide. Badtooth shook his head. Slowly—for emphasis. Besides. Bit unfair ain't ye? I think I be kind o' handsome fer a half-drowned rat. Me mother always said so anyway. Upon saying this, the white wolf clicked his tongue and winked.

But beneath the jest he was impressed with his travelling companion. His masquerade had at least been convincing enough to sow unease in the worm-eaten brains of her captors and send one fleeing at the start, and there were none more feared than he and his kin from whence he came. Winterfinch, however saw it for what it was. And it was just as well—the Corsair had already taken a liking to her and was relieved to drop the ruse.

His breath sighed through his nose. Seeing as you're not a believe in Badtooth the biter of sharks! The bandit of mothers and meals! The brazen! The... bad... well, you might as well call me Rex, then. His heretofore accent was gone. I have a lot of fun messing with wolves' heads with that whole act and it served me and mine well, but it's a wee bit exhausting to keep up. It's not all lies though. There's some truth in it.