Honeyed Pasture Eight seconds left in overdrive

Mason watched her roll up at a pleasant pace once she had noticed him. He had spotted her from some distance off, but he hadn’t been sure she would head in his direction. Mason’s ears flickered at her words, and then a smile played across his muzzle.
 
“I don’t think I’d be a very good snack,” Mason admitted, “Dad always said I would be a bit chewy.” With that he eased himself up from the floor and shook off the excess snow. Mason eyed her chrome palette with interest. She held the scent he had been looking for – he felt the desperate need to explain himself as he so often did. “I wanted to know a bit more about your pack, ‘cause I live on Silvertip mountain and we’re quite close, so I thought I’d come and have a nosey.”
 
Mason remembered what she had said and tacked the last words on with a grin; “oh, and how are you doing?”