Grouse Thicket so i a[m] i point one back at them but not the index or the pinkie

the grin melted off her face like an eighties special effect.

i- !! gun'd look like she was snarling if her muzzle weren't fucked up - half of it permanently bared, the other draped over.

you- !! but, she couldn't say it. protests weren't formed enough to find her mouth. no room for indignation on the raging highway of reason.

and what was reasonable to gun? well, the things she knew, first of all, and she knew colt "tarsnout" briggs was as clever as a human. he didn't look like much - in a way she found catcall-worthy - but he'd proven himself smart, and real, and feistier than a cornered cat. he was her kind of boss the way the big grey daddy-o of mereo never could've been. the fact she'd managed to cop a feel, well, it played no small part in her fondness.

so, when tarsnout says no hanky panky until further notice, best gun can do is fold her arms and pout like a bratty child.

she turned with a harumph, head and tail raised, not bothering with even a fine, intending to walk away into the shrubbery - opposite way of the isle, unintentionally.