Sea Lion Shores i will go to my own sun

Yeet didn’t bat an eyelash at the wolf’s defensive response. He eyed the prickled hackles and the exposed teeth with faint amusement. Wolves rarely ever reacted favorably to him, so he was quite used to such behavior.

“You are not the father,” he said agreeably, evidently channeling his inner Maury Povich. “My real dad knows a joke when he sees one. Which he should. Considering his name’s Joker.” His tongue clicked.

The wolf seemed disproportionately twitchy about what appeared to be scraps. Yeet glanced at them with disinterest, then back to the wolf. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering what to do or say next to really push this guy’s buttons.

There was the easy, obvious answer. Yeet went very still, returning the wolf’s glare with a deadpan stare, before feinting toward what was left of the fish.