Felltree Marsh obviously and furthermore

Sorry for the wait, @Anne.

Grimalkin decided to harass the pudgy little noisemakers until he became so bored, hot, or tired the endeavor became a chore — but the sound of squelching pawprints and a decidedly feminine voice was enough to make him abandon the task immediately for a more interesting interaction.  "I'm waiting," he quipped, his tone amicable and the swish of his tail as light and easy as his gravelly baritone timbre.  The way she leapt at him was amusing, and he didn't really think she posed a threat to him, but a glint in his bourbon eyes (though they probably appeared a dark brown in the dim lighting of the moraine) said he wasn't quite sure what to make of her.

"Other songs?  Course I do," he said.  "I don't give them away for free, though."

There was nothing lecherous about the way he said it, though it certainly could've been taken that way.  He'd gladly sing her a song if she gave him something back — company or time or a pretty smile, he wasn't picky — but he quickly tacked on: "Be nice if I knew who I was singing for, though.  I'm Grimalkin."