Otter Creek the art of the fox

"Oh really?" Jaws replied back, lifting his head and taking a slow, deliberate stroll around her, leaving barely any distance between them as his hungry eyes devoured every last curve. She had not shied from his first step nor shot down his suggestion and he was emboldened by it, taking the inch she gave him and gambling with the mile.

The shewolf was far more interesting prospect for the coywolf, and the thought of the injured doe was long forgotten, his appetite for meat replaced with a lewd craving. As Jaws returned to stand in front of her, he let his muzzle pass only a whisker's breadth away from her own, responding with a wink. "In that case, you can call me Jaws."