Porcupine Ridge birthday in noir

Diane tensed slightly, preparing for something that didn't come at contact with Vuk. There was no drowning and definitely no crying out. She was painfully aware of how much she yearned to nuzzle the scarred she-wolf back, but her irrational nervousness kept her at bay. A trickle of fear eked along her spine—what if she would always be afraid to be touched and touch in return because of the episode a few days prior?

Negativity clouded her thoughts, but the crunch of bones distracted her, reminding the former beachcomber that she had something to put on her stomach. It was her first time tasting stoat, and her first bite introduced her to the interesting taste of a small predator. The taste was quite foreign to her inexperienced palate, very different from mackerel, but not unpleasant. Her spirits lifted immediately as she scarfed down the rest, licking her chops in a satisfied fashion as she eyed her companion with gleaming eyes.

"Thank you, Vuk.. I feel a lot better now," she praised the pallid she-wolf, tail waving before she hesitated and looked at war with herself briefly. Uncertainly, tenderly, Diane leaned forward and pressed her nose into the base of her throat. She pulled away much quicker than she had come into the motion, and her smile was bashful.