Blackfoot Forest dance at bougival

He finds himself smiling a half-hearted, crooked smile her way. Perhaps the people here are of a different sort? Non, it... it is only a word. To me, it means darling." Although she laughed and looked nonplussed by his slip, the boy wondered if his mind has finally taken leave of his body - perhaps absconded with his tongue. 

Licking his lips through a thin-lined and taut jaw, Renoir nods his head in acceptance of this humble gift. Gradually he slumps towards the hare, as if expecting to be slapped away, and pulls it close. Having been studious in his early years, he remains reproachful, and does not dig in yet.

Is it... normal, this gift giving? I 'ave not seen dis ennywhere before. Gifts were reserved for family, not strange men in the woods. But he begins to pick at the carcass before she responds, taking care to remain proper and tidy, though hunger goads his animal instinct.