Blackfoot Forest and we danced

Whoops. She'd scared the boy. She felt an immediate whoosh of disinterest slacken the wires of her femininity.
 
A huff of air escaped her - laughter that was stiffled in an attempt to maintain seriousness - and she shook her head in a dismissive way that negated the sultry nature of her initial impression. "Mind yourself," she said with a tone that was firm but friendly. "I'm not the type of weak-willed women you're likely most familiar with. I'm not interested in your either." And truthfully she was not; it did her pride no good to seek out the loud-mouthed, class clown boys of the world to satisfy her needs. Skellige came to mind and she mulled over the memory of his wild eyes with a pleasant little flutter in her gut. He was much more her style than this slack-jawed newbie.
 
"Although you plopping yourself so close to me was rather forward," she said with a quizzical tilt of her head. "Especially when we spare no knowledge of even our names...I'm Emily by the way."