Dawnlark Plains don't call [m]e grimgram

Ramskull blew out a gusty sigh as he fairly sauntered over to the belle who'd "tripped" and fallen with theatrical grace.  Sunspot was right; he did like doing the catching.  He made the most of it, too.  "Looks like you could use some assistance," he teased her playfully.  The folded leg was a nice touch.  He didn't know if she was going to start running again, though, so he moved in and licked her fur against the grain.  He liked it when she was a little riled.  Plus, you couldn't trust those eyes.  She could look at him like that and tell him, "Grim, bears are herbivores," and there he'd be: "Yeah, yeah, course they are.  I've known it all along."

"C'mere," he rumbled at her.  It was a stupid thing to say, because he immediately swept forward to do the legwork himself.  He slung an arm over her hips and nipped at the object of his desire: the little divot at the base of her tail just before the slope of her hips began.  Hers was a huntress' frame, medium in stature with spry, slender muscles.  "Mm," he murmured thickly, standing over her to take her all in.  "Goddamn, what a woman."  He shook his head in mild disbelief.  His mouth teased at her nape.