Bearclaw Valley pickin' me a bouquet of dogwood flowers

At times, Xan was impulsive, and incredibly so. The patience of his parents was not something he’d managed to inherit, which had resulted in plenty of trouble being caused in his youth—something that carried over into his adult life, the consequences of his actions being shoved back at him, as was what he felt to be happening when teeth were bared and his muzzle hit. Stunned, he pulled his head back and stared at her, slowly processing what had just happened.

And then it dawned on him—

Everything that had happened, a fresh reminder tearing through his thoughts. He’d made a bad move, forcing himself next to her when he doubted he was even wanted; he knew what it was like, he understand what had happened more than he would ever admit, so why had he touched her? Retreating several steps, he let out an apologetic whine, which turned into something birthed from confusion when she rolled over. He watched her, gaze travelling from one end of her body to the other until she rolled over onto her stomach. Ears back, he dipped his head down like he might try to touch her again, only to refrain from taking even a single step forward; the reminder was all he’d needed to adjust himself, cautious and worrying.

The flowers caught his eye as they were shoved towards him, but he was hesitant. They’re not herbs, he tried to tell himself, she wouldn’t do that. Swallowing, he mimicked her position, dropping down onto his stomach and inching towards her. And although his brain screamed no! don’t touch them!, Alexander took one of the flowers in his mouth and then extended his muzzle towards her, offering it back.