Phoenix Maplewood I don't feel connected to all of your lies.

The shadows shifted on the stranger’s face just before he opened his mouth to speak. Cambria blinked, realized he was staring, and felt a warm flush tingle from the crown of his head all the way to the tip of his tail. Swiftly if reluctantly, he averted his eyes. He hoped the man knew he’d only looked so long out of pure captivation, not to present a challenge, although that thought sent another wave of heat sizzling down his spine.

He drew in a sharp breath at the stranger’s—no, Etienne’s—exotic brogue. The yearling’s stomach did a strange little swoop. He glanced upward again, a mildly stunned expression on his face, before dropping his two-toned eyes back to the carpet of colorful leaves on the forest floor.

I, he made to reply, only to realize the words caught in his throat and tripped oddly off his tongue, I be Cambria.

The instant the words left his mouth, he flushed more intensely than ever. His skin must be red hot under his pale fur. Why had he said it that way? Etienne might think he was ridiculing him, when it was the last thing Cambria intended to do. The yearling was mortified, his tongue curling against the roof of his mouth as he visibly cringed.