Hushed Willows Take me back to the night we met.

she was a feisty one, wasn't she?
alright then, how 'bout 'way'? that better? if you don't want a nickname, maybe try askin' your mama for a shorter name. there is mischief in his tone. he sees the sharpness of daggers in her gaze, and he assumes that it must come from distrust; as it typically seemed to with the folks he often met around here.
he'd ask another day. he'd let it hurt his feelings the day after that.
for now, he was determined to make a friend out of her, or at least something like it. he cuts around her in a fast-paced lope, inviting her forth with a gleaming gaze.
needed a patrol buddy anyway.