Them magpies've been hangin' 'round the porch ever since Saturday. All three of 'em.
Should'na fed 'em all those chips from there, then.
Found the baby sittin' on a pair of boots come Sunday mornin', beggin' for more scraps.
Saturday was fantastic. Even got to dress up a bit and come out some; too bad not enough for much accent play. I do loves me n' my accent. The white fella looked good too, 'cept we got a touch worried 'bout that limp. Too bad he had to go back; real-world ain't much fun.
Wolf-girl wasn't in much of a mood. The old black crept about her like the floor was a half-froze pond 'bout to give. Kept out of the wolf's hair, left her to her sandwich and kept his resentments to outside talk. Old black don't like feelin' like he can't talk, like the walls got ears, and he sure didn't like the white fella havin' to see him weak n' placatin' like that.
The white fella's good for him; difference b'tween him then and the days before 's like day n' night.