Lost Creek Hollow nope (2022)

little quivers rattled each rib. chest contracted and expanded as the sac on a frog did. paws crossed at wrists hid eyes evenly.

there was a herd of thoughts stampeding trough the brain of wolf once called this, once called that, once called it.

and really, were it so wrong, to think those sounds deep from her self, the water from her eyes, were joy, seeping and oozing out?

even the grin was there, pristine starveling teeth shining-

and so quick did it wilt when bror crowfeather said his thing.

the wolfess rolled onto her ribs with a jolt - eyes now bloodshot as well as blood-red - wide-eyed and swallowing him. looking for ridicule, the joke - to laugh at herself as was right!

but crowfeather was a bee's milk. panes of obsidian face looking at her with-

pity.

her expression soured, like a nervous tic, and in next blink the grin had returned.

"so sweet, bror crowfeather." she purred, eyes hooding. again feline, she stretched. 

( how white her claws were )

"so," and she rose fast, not looking at his face, not wanting to see it. "will your skull recall it again? when you see us, will you know each name given, or will you stumble, and stutter, and pause?"

her muzzle rose until it were vertical.

"hva er et navn verdt når ingen husker det?" mocking him back, with the raven's tongue.

*casually lays groundwork for fresher thread now that i can reply faster* :)