Heron Lake Plateau Never mind the slacks and bashers

Quixote trailed off, and his thought process was the same as Niamh's. Maybe it was something about the worried thoughtfulness on his features that told Niamh he was wondering about the safety of the children that would be born to him soon. Niamh frowned; the thought of Quixote being possibly the father of those pups...Or not being the father of those pups made her feel strange. She said nothing, but nodded. She too would have to be more careful around the hillside, if it was wet and slippery. She hoped in the winter that the hillside simply got covered in snow, not ice- otherwise, they'd all be in danger.

She snorted when he mentioned getting eaten by ducks. "As if." She replied. "You wouldn't taste good. Ducks know better." She said, giving him another thin smile. "Thanks, Quixote...I'm sorry I'm kind of...All over the place. But, I appreciated the company. Thanks." She said softly, and willed his injuries to get better as soon as possible- whether that would do anything or not. She reached down for the clamshell, but moved forward and touched her nose to his cheek, gratefully. She nodded to him, then, and carefully picked the clamshell up. She gave him a final, appreciative glance, and began to pick her way carefully back to her den, the teetering, water-filled clamshell clutched in her teeth like a precious gift.