cooking up a dream

Despite her threat towards him to lower his gaze, Mordecai did not. Instead he watched her and the ferocity inside of her grow. Her words landed verbal blows to him, but it wasn't the first time he had been exposed to her scalding tongue. And just as it had come, it also went. Her eyes turned away from him and towards the elk, and he looked past her for a moment to the herd that remained only half-aware of the bickering between them. This time around, her focus seemed to resolutely be on them, but his focus had waned considerably.

Hotly, he chuffed to nothing in particular. “No. I'm not doing this until you explain yourself.” It seemed that not that long ago, she had been looking to him for advice he wasn't so sure he was able to give. Now she was lashing out at him? “What's your problem with me?” He knew why, but he wanted the words from her mouth. He wanted to know what it was that she was seeing, which apparently was him bowing down. Mordecai, as far as he knew, had never offered Ptarmigan an ounce of submission yet. Then again, he hadn't to her either. Though his tone stayed level and smooth, the anger burned brightly from her fevered strike.