Heron Lake Plateau Troy, this is Midsomer

One wonderful thing about being in season was that the hormones temporarily commandeered her brain and made it nearly impossible to dwell on bothersome things. Titmouse was the furthest thing from her mind now as everything inside of her hummed to the rhythm of Quixote, and she reveled in the freedom of it. She was not accustomed to being pursued, having always been sort of a wallflower in the background before now, and truth be told, she relished the attention by such an attractive male. She loped along, casting coy glances rearward, waiting for him to make a move (...would he? the excitement was too much!).

And oh, make a move he did! She heard the weird squelching sound of his feet in the mud and turned around just in time to see him execute a truly magnificent faceplant right into a patch of thick, sticky mud. Once she saw that he was okay, she fell into a fit of helpless giggles as he attempted to pull himself together. His nonchalant explanation -- "Also, there's mud." -- only made her laugh harder, and she moved a little closer to him to get a better look at the new paint job. Cocking her head, eyes alight with mirth, she commented with a grin, "Hey, brown looks good on you!"