Larksong Grotto and walkin's what they'll do

Bartholomeow, the lynx kit. The girl giggled once more. She knew that if she were a lynx kit with such a name, she, too, would be grateful for her mother whisking her to safety. Bartholomeow, she repeated, blinking away happy tears with a sigh. Well, if you got in to trouble with the kit's mother, I think you deserved it after creating such a hilariously terrible name..! Her tone was humorous, eyes twinkling.

These stories were wonderful, but she knew that she, soon, would have to consider her trek. Shuffling from where she sat, she came a little closer to the man. One more story? Bella asked, hopeful. Before I have to go. His stories brought out the inner child within her. She hadn't laughed this much in what felt like her entire life, asides from the hilarity of her father's reactions to the pranks she'd pull on him.

Her eyes shone with an almost pleading expression — puppy eyes. How could anyone say no to that? Honey eyes drew anyone right into them.

Another story was all she could possibly ask for.