Meadowlark Prairie to savour your accent

"no, you're right. how did the fish manage to leave too?" merrick assured, seeking to assuage her girlish anxieties with the confidence of his own bearing. something seductive in it; though astara remained the only one he truly desired, the boy allowed himself a series of small images featuring himself and fern — entangled. how would she sound? it was irrelevant, after all; the only cries he wished to wring from those fluted lips were those of terror.
impassioned, the yearling strove for control silently. "most of a year i've been a scout," he answered. "i like to wander. it sounds like you might enjoy the same, fern. have you ever considered it?"
they were drawing near to the pack he did not know was blackfeather; merrick paused to peer in its direction for any sign of wolfish movement before pressing on, quickening his pace with an encouraging look at fern.