Sly Fox Sand Dunes Home has come.

Why this cheeky little—

Briar's tail lashed as he came to understand the nature of the woman before him. He may have been as red as the devil, but she would earn the descriptor "devilish."

Little woman with an impish smile. Booboo man. He thoroughly thought about wiping it off of her face when she drew close. He had warned her about being in biting distance... If he had been rabid 

He was not a rabid mongrel. For technically both their sakes. She had drawn close enough he was certain she saw the twitch of his lip.

Not quite, dear. Briar plucked words from out of a rising growl. He in turn shoved the rumble far enough down his throat to gag himself on it. Devils spoke with silvered tongues and honeyed words. He was no devil, nor was he a gentleman. But, he was a man. And a man should know how to bargain.

I am not an experienced desert farer. His voice was cool and even. Briar lowered himself to be closer to her eye level. Forelimbs extending into an awkward half bow, half crouch. 

Had their setting been different, he would have challenged her for her verbal slights. However, they were here. In this endless expanse of baking sand. And he was a far greater slave to his needs than his ego. Water, survival, would take precedence over his pride. 

Well, water bearer. I would like to take your offer. I can trust an experienced desert inhabitant to be able to guide me to water, can't I? Not that he would completely yield to her Without question. Not fully.