Bearclaw Valley pickin' me a bouquet of dogwood flowers

The moment she started to get closer, his tail began wagging quicker. When she stopped, they weren’t as close as he would have preferred, but close enough that he saw it as a step forward. He didn’t dare to try to get any closer, reminding himself that she was in control now; if she didn’t want him any closer, then he would respect that, even though he wanted the opposite.

But then she spoke—one syllable, a name—and he could barely contain himself.

An excited whine slipped out his mouth and he stretched his neck out towards her, attempting to shower her with kisses. He didn’t quite understand why, but hearing her say his name made him feel things; his heart thumped and he felt unable to do anything other than smile.

It kind of scared him.