The Bracken Woods oh, black lung, you're back

she fit herself against him and he crooked a sinewy forearm over her hip. his muzzle pushed into the nape his teeth had only recently hurt.
the man made a low and pleasant sound, but he was not yet ready to sleep, even as the neverending tension in his body ebbed away.
"mebbe tomorrow we go'n getcha another rabbit head." his voice was a raspy croon, tending toward sleepy. "how would yew feel about that, indra?"