Bramblepoint Make it after all

And she would carefully sit upon the logs edge, raising upwards upon back paws to settle down on the wood. Even when she sat, she looked rigid.

Stark, he'd said. Like the bird? Played her voice within her own mind. No, that's stork. Pleasure ta meet yaself, Stark, she returned, polite whether she wanted to be or not. Being a prick wasn't going to get her any favours, now was it?

His voice tested her name upon his tongue. Strange sounding, now. Not quite butchered, but certainly a little lifeless without her kick. 'Spose so, she replied. Not quite an answer, but it was something. I'm afraid that don't seem to be nunna ya business, hun'. Her words were final, then.

Chin rested upon his paws. She looked down at him, now. Ya're awfully curious, Stark. How 'bout ya tell me somethin' about yaself, first? See if ya can cozy me up, maybe. He couldn't. She knew that—hell, he probably knew that. But she wouldn't answer his questions.

Her past had shaped her, but it was not what defined her.