Barrow Fields get out somewhere other than me before

he skirted away from her nip with a playful growl. ”don’t want hares?!” he echoed with a perplexed expression—who didn’t like peter cottontail for brunch? as she set after some spoor on the frost-limned groundcover at an amusing goosewalk (https://i.imgur.com/O9Wd7UW.gif), her appetite was made clear. 

of course. marmot. marmot was what the broody lady craved. the squirrel too fat and lazy to climb trees, with alarming lung clout--and hey, weren’t they still hibernating? Lycaon knew better than to debate her on it, though, and sat there with puzzlement knit of his brows. 

”well okay.” he conceded, springing to all fours in a bound after the retreating form of his mother. he swung into a gamely trot alongside her determined stalk. ”i’ll call ‘em out,” he said, not giving her time to protest before unleashing an ear-splitting ”SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” unto the world as birds dispersed from the treetops with riotous panic.