Meadowlark Prairie in flanders fields

She peeked up from beneath her eyelashes to gauge his reaction to her touch. He looked a little taken aback but not in a necessarily bad way. Later, when the high wore off completely, she might cringe about this, if she remembered the encounter at all. But right now, her shoulders shook in silent laughter and tears even formed at the corners of her eyes, so great was her mirth at her own uncharacteristic behavior. What made it even funnier and more absurd was Birk's conviction that it might be some sort of local custom.

"No, I—no," Raven replied, still laughing a little breathlessly. "I don't know what's gotten into me." She paused, then snorted. "I mean, I do. But." She did not continue that thought, instead taking a moment to swipe the tears gathering at the corner of her eyes with the back of a foreleg. "I'm sorry. I'm not myself," she had the wherewithal to explain, swallowing back another bubble of laughter that bloomed in her chest and drifted up her throat.

"What brings you here, Birk?" she wondered, putting in some effort to appear soberer, though there was still a glassy, dancing sheen to her yellow eyes that gave her away.