Otatso Wetlands When I get low I prefer the cold

Punch-drunk and eyes swimming, never focusing upon him fully, the girl leaned closer. But if she thought Qeorvik was bright and warm, then she would soon find him blazing, burning, hot as the sun. He recoiled from the stranger’s touch and lifted a paw to stop her, setting it out firmly to meet her chest and keep her at bay.

You not ask for touching me, he growled. Of course, he could not blame her for wanting to touch a specimen such as himself. But it was rude of her not to ask first.