Sawtooth Spire there's lots of middle ground between the kings and centipedes

she cooed with a smile when he brushed her cheek with his paw and leaned into its calloused warmth. ”blllth,” she babbled with a yawn. 
when he obliged her request and she could feel his muzzle touch the fine fur of her belly (which bounced with an abrupt chuckle from the tickle of his whiskers), she grabbed onto the marred snout with her legs and hugged him close to her face. another lesson learned, he had whispered, strewing warmth against her stomach. 
this time, there wasn’t a peep from her. the lamb had already fallen asleep, draped over the breadth of his muzzle.