Dragoncrest Cliffs i could base my whole existence on the cherry-strands of your gold hair

She eyed him suspiciously whilst he ruminated, expecting his virile whims to mastermind some sort of personalized, dissolute task for her to complete – one that would ultimately be in violation of her fleshly integrity, she was most sure. Would she be expected to humor his eyeball licking kink, perhaps subjected to his dendrophilic inclinations? Was pudding to be involved?

Alas, lucky or unlucky for Lus, Tachyon’s sensory input/output mechanism appeared to be a lemon, and he presented the idea of simply spending additional time in her presence without much in the way of provisos. Either something of value was to be gleaned from the miscellany of abrasive character traits from which she was composed, or he was a glutton for punishment.

Oh gatos. Was humiliation his thing? His grand ultimate idee fixe? Two words: Unwilling! Participant!!

Lusca screwed up her eyes with mistrust. No, no, things never went this smoothly for Scrat – rarely did she get her acorn and never before had she’d been a recipient of ammunition airdrops. Squinting at him, she searched his overcast facial features as though looking for the fine print squiggled across the membrane of his eyeballs.

Finding nothing that would bely his innocence, the lithe ingenue backed up out of his personal space. ”Okay, here’s the deal,” She conceded defeat with a heavy sigh. ”Bring me something filling–not…fish," she raised her voice emphatically, making sure he took note of her required quarry specs. She inwardly justified her specification as being that: A) she was a competent piscator and could make an easy meal of salmon on her own, B) frankly she was already concerned he was Gollum, and C) she wanted the five-star experience, the Yelp ratings, the entitlement to being indignant because an air particle touched her soufflé. 
 
”or.. bugs..” she continued on, wrinkling her nose and making a face of aversion. She wasn’t sure if Tachyon was the type to feast on creepy-crawlies, but she didn’t want to leave any room for personal interpretation of what a meal was in their contract. After a brief pause, Lu nodded at him, with an edited spin on his supposed “profit” from the agreement in mind: ”and I’ll let you escort me upriver.” 

Glancing over his shoulder, out towards the dark womb of the hurling seas where ruching of geometric gray spun on the loom of cresting waves, Lusca felt a lump in her throat. Her stomach rolled in flow with the waves and whether or not it derived from hunger or nerves was anybody’s guess. Swallowing harshly, the black wolf about-faced and began walking further into the forest, beckoning motion of her snout bidding Tachyon to fall in stride. ”What’s tonight's special?”