Barrow Fields i would ask, almost insist, on treating you kind and fair

It was without a trifle of demur that he glided towards her, without a doubt prepared for a fleet of kisses and apologies for not seeing him for his authentic self – a true songsmith, a libertine of the highest order!

She humored his giddiness for a moment – stricken with vertigo he most assuredly was, flitting upon his toetips with a tail thumping craters into the dirt – and inclined towards his snoot, provocative glint in her lantern eyes. As she drew inches from his face, pinning her gaze deeply into the depths of childlike naivety, she discerned the crux of innocence she was about to wring out of his soul.

Without warning, she shrinked backwards, lifted her paw and swung – hopefully delivering an expression of pent up aggression smack across his snout. Afterwards, again, she got up in his face and bunched her mug against his own. "Don't you ever do that again." – the words, sauced with undiluted scorn, grated out from between gritted fangs.