Swiftcurrent Creek I don't read the newspaper because they all have ugly print

It was like Arlette handed him a gift on a silver platter—telling him she believed Arric was more of a slow burn. He could spin this to his use one day—already he could feel the twitch of his lips in amusement at the jokes he was already compiling—

—all to keep his best friend on his toes.

He laughed as Arlette asked if she would be joining them—recalling the disdainful look not only from her, her boy, but the withering glare Etienne cast upon her as well. “Hard no,” he guessed, but gave her a roguish wink. “I got a kiss out of it, though.”

A huge stretch—but such was life.

What instantly sobered him though was the knowledge of just how nasty porcupine quills were—they rolled in feces?

“I have poo in my face, then?”

Fucking figured.