Hideaway Strath aint going back to barton hollow

She didn't fall for him quite like he'd imagined, but that was fine. Dingo had a way with the ladies and he knew it; whether or not they were equally invested in a good time didn't particularly matter to him, so long as he got what he wanted. This particular girl was briefly concerned for him and as she rushed to investigate where he'd fallen the man couldn't contain his good cheer — it was quite an ego boost to have women falling all over themselves for him and even when the tables were turned, they always worried their pretty little heads on his behalf. It was so sweet, and so easy, just how he liked things.

Mm, I thought so, he drawled as he carefully stepped out from among the ferns. He strut a little bit like a rooster, and the beat of his steps helped to fluff the fur around his collarbone, clearing some of the yellow dust that had collected there. While he stood before her he looked her up and down, not shy at all as his eyes roamed across her (albeit somewhat lackluster now that he's paying attention) coat and trim figure. She looked young; not too young thankfully, but reminded him of the wolves who once gave him harbor along the coast. A bit ragged from travel, a bit wild.

What's a damsel like you doin' in a place like this? You smell like the river -- so I presume you came from north'a here, maybe the coast? Dingo had a good head on his shoulders when it came to navigation, and considering all the places he'd visited and ladies he'd bedded, it made sense. Plus he had been stalking this particular girl as soon as he'd found her by the river, hours ago; there weren't many places she could've come from. Ah, but you don't look like much of a pirate to me — certainly no wench, much more proper. What's your name?