Mud Monsters and Pack ghosts

She was glad he was entertained, but internally, she disagreed. Mal wasn't a storyteller. "Sirius or Zee tell you bedtime stories, don't they?" She shrugged. "For me... sometimes it was my dam, or the older girls in my pack, but mostly it was my aunt, since we spent so much time with her. She's the one with the trove of stories. I'm just... trying my best to sound like her, I guess?" Mal cleared her throat, laying her head on her paws, and watched the flames for a while. She remembered, suddenly, her aunt's voice in her head: low and soothing when it was a short and sweet fable, or contorting itself to fit various sounds and dialects for more complicated tales.

She chuckled softly at Mort's question, in idle wonder. Where had Pia gotten all those stories herself? It went all the way down, a question without an answer.

Sighing, she turned to Mortis with a wry little grin. "Ah, a story night would be fun, actually. We don't get enough of that kind of thing here." As much as she enjoyed her romps with Mortis, she found herself wishing that the rest of the pack engaged in the same way.  "'I'm up for hosting it, if we can get enough people to participate. And anyway, it's your turn for a story, angel boy."