Porcupine Ridge Crafted, holy, rolling thunder

She'd turn back at his chastisement, see the space he'd put between them and regard it with a tilted head, clueless. Hm? Start what?

Oh right, he was disgustingly suggestive. The realization stirred after a moment.

Perhaps that was what she got for being so touchy. Invitations unintended, boundaries pressed and crossed mindlessly. Someday it was bound to cause problems, hurt her or someone else, but that was how it had always been with her. Rot spreader, shatter the sanctity of everything touched and everything cared about.

It already had caused plenty of problems before; they say insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. She did not know why she never learned, maybe it was just desperation, maybe it was just how she was. Seeker of closeness, but forever resigned to sidelines, looking in and wondering how others did it so easily.

She did not want a rift, and recognized it quickly, even in his flippant tone. Her expression darkened, almost guilty, if such a thing was even possible. She sat back down and looked to the ground, paw idly tracing a circle, regulation. Thinly veiled sulking.

...Or furs.. we'd have to skin one of those goats, though. I think I could manage it.