Hushed Willows Cause' we're connected!

He accepted the responsibility and she was glad. Stark seemed to be ready for anything and eager to help, and that cast him in a good light. His attempt at humor made her smile, but it was a tired smile, a stressed smile. At least she wasn't frowning or something, since such expressions of exhaustion and worry had already begun to overwork her features; she wondered how tired she looked, suddenly, and huffed. With a brief bup of her nose against his shoulder, Tavi began to leave him to his duties.

Except, then she didn't. She took a step, then stopped, turned back to him, and with a slight lean of her body against his dark figure, reached up with her snout and gave him a proper lick to the cheek. In the next few hours she'd be figuring out what color rug would be going in to her den — a black one, stemming from Reek hunting down his son, or a fleabitten gold. Thank you, Stark. It's nice to know someone has my back, the woman quietly commended him, gave a small smile, and then turned again — this time leaving him for good.