Grouse Thicket roll for initiative

A paw lifted to stifle the small giggle at her mouth, cloying as she rolled to her back, haunting lavender eyes on him. “Is that’s what dangerous? A woman who has always had what she’s desired?”

But she did not miss the hint of a smile upon the man—there, and then gone, as if she had blinked, and it had been non-existant. He was toying with her now—the encouragement of an adventure to each pack border she came to. “You try to set me up for failure,” she purred—accusatory, and yet the unspoken question as to why—he was so eager to see her on her way, was he not?

But his statement was serious. Her humor drained from her features—and she shifted back to her belly. Lithesome, pulling herself to her paws, she closed a distance between them—persistence, perhaps. But there was more to it, her muzzle just grazing his shoulder, should he allow it, as she encircled him. “You’re hurt,” she murmured then—not with sympathy—an observation. He believed he would never love again. Perhaps that was true.