Duck Lake [m] watch the fall

Her question was what drew him from the reverie of his gaze roving over her—amusement tipped upon his lips, though not allowing such to flesh out to a full smirk. “Long enough,” he assured, the pale eyes unashamedly coursing along her body.

Nature was a fickle beast this time of year—thus, it had proven this to him time and again.

He knew better. But it didn’t mean he wished to truly obey what his both his mind and heart spoke as a terrible, terrible idea.

She beckoned him—another feather gently gliding to the earth from her bronzed pelt.

With a spur of mischief, he took one step closer—muzzle tilting upward, his gaze beseeching her—“Better?”

If the wind happened to shift in favor of her request—all the better. Otherwise, he could continue this game of cat and mouse.

Or, perhaps he was the fox and she the hen.

Either way, he was entertained with the notion.