Grouse Thicket the foetus of a new day kicking

"à cause de mon caractère direct," lasher murmured, holding renoir's eyes. the golden man seemed aflutter with nerves, which worried the man rather than flattered him; there was want here, it seemed, but also a deep and abiding fear. of what? he wondered to himself -- did renoir not think himself capable of loving a man? did the very idea inspire both disgust and curiosity within himself? or was it merely lasher who caused the nerves to fray so, his nearness, his presence?

the last was laughable -- taltos knew he cut no such imposing figure, not as peregrine did, for example. but he was curious all the same as to the nature of renoir's confusion, and did not wish to sully the intention of his attention with fragrant words or flowered poetry. he must temper it with directness. 

"je ne voudrais pas vous forcer à me accepter," lasher murmured at length, turning his muzzle with a smile for his companion. the landscape went ignored for now.