Heron Lake Plateau It was too cold to cry when I woke up alone,

Ceara thought he was joking, or maybe it was like one of those crummy pick-up lines that nobody ever actually used.  She couldn't tell if he was trying to be smooth or casual, or if he was trying too hard or just enough.  I live here, she said unceremoniously as the corner of her lip twitched upwards.

Whoa-hoh-man, this dude was forward!  Not that it was unnatural, but she had become accustomed to having some kind of personal space that it took her off guard.  The fur along her spine came to life, but quickly she swallowed her discomfort and gave this new boy the same kind of treatment.  Her nose first probed the bulb of flesh behind one of his ears then trailed down his neck, the soft leather of her nostrils working at the splash of ashen guard hairs between his shoulders.  The wildfire girl nosed down his flank and pulled away as she met his hip.

Um, she stuttered, not quite knowing what to make of his response.  Why would being orange be a bad thing, like, ever?  Was she pretty?  I haven't seen anyone like you before, either.  Her gut began to roll as she searched for a more put-together response.  Who're you?