It was only that after Grimlock’s heart beat began to gradually slow back to a less frantic, adrenaline laced pulse that he shook it off as what it was: an accident. There had been a time when he had been just like Junior — might have even still been like Junior, unaware of the truth strength of his body — and to hold against it her with a personal vendetta would have been utterly stupid. Peregrine addressed him with concern of which relieved the raptor a good bit. “I’m good,” His pulse was still a little loud in his ears, as he adrenaline began to fade out of his blood stream. In hindsight he was just really glad he hadn’t snarled or worse yet attacked her in self defense; that the stupor of his shock had been too great for any sort of life preserving instincts had kicked in (not that he thought that his life had been in severe danger). The situation could have been a hell of a lot worse if he would have retaliated because while he was half sure she couldn’t do life threatening damage to him (yet) he could have certainly done significant damage to her. “Nah, it’s nothin’ really,” Grimlock attempted to brush off his uncle trying to act like the touch guy though he had been feverishly concerned about it in the aftermath of her rough housing.
Grimlock watched as Junior, under Peregrine’s scolding and sternness flopped to her side, and then exposed her belly, muttering an apology. “It’s ok Junior, I’m not mad,” He assured her, not wanting her to think that he held it against her or anything, or that it would stop him from playing with her or ‘sitting her anything like that. Grimlock didn’t have the vendetta it took to hold grudges. He pretended too but he didn’t really; and it wasn’t like he was going to pretend to hold a grudge over Junior. She was just a little girl. “You just have to learn to be careful and that you only go for the throat if you’re hunting. Not playing.” He finished, offering Peregrine a toothy grin, a little late, for the semi-praise for the idea to take Junior hunting where she could burn out some of her …ferociousness. Or whatever it was she had. She rebounded with impressive timing prancing over to him and touching her nose against his neck. “’Course I want to play,” He feigned a mock hurt voice as if the thought that he didn’t want to play insulted him. “What’s next?” He asked her wondering if she was working off some sort of agenda for her favorite games or just wanted to play whatever popped into her head at the time.