Whitefish River When God is gone and the Devil takes hold

He was able to grab at her own rump as she bolted forward coltishly, his fangs soft as they found their place and just as quickly, lost it. He was then able to headbutt her as she turned broadside to him, and his persistent nudges earned him an airy growl, one foreleg lifting to wrap heavily around his neck. She was not sure if she hit her mark, though she fell lazily upon her hindquarters.

Tonravik did not mind romping roughly around with him. But she would certainly need more harassment, and instead seemed to have other ideas, like harassing him. If her arm had ever made it around him, she'd pull him to her to sniff lazily at his face and then lick at it slowly, as though to clean it.