Wild Berry Meadow Tell everybody I'm on my way

Stark’s gaze swept over her, lingering on the mess she’d made of herself—her muzzle sticky with berry juice, leaves clinging to her fur, and a dribble of green mush smeared along her chin. His expression didn’t change, but a faint huff escaped his nostrils, something between exasperation and muted amusement. His lips curled, teeth unveiling as he looked upon her with judgmental scorn.

He had always been a bit of a... neat freak.

“You’ve done a wonderful job of decorating yourself, gosling,” he said flatly, vox bleeding of dry humor and a sarcastic bite, “Quite an... interesting design.” He spoke freely now, offering her more than he had as of late. Slowly, but surely, the stoic man opened up to his small, spitfire of a comrade.

He moved as she did, turning to begin a slow waltz as she announced she was ready. His tail swayed, his gaze jerked towards her, and he caught the glance she cast toward him, her eyes darting to his scarred face. Sometimes it felt as if she stared right through him.

He hummed for a moment as he looked upon her. Searching her thin, youthful face tinged in berry juice. A thought, then, blipped into his sharp mind. “Does a little urchin like you even have a name?” Stark's round ears twisted, “Parents?” He added, his eye drifting elsewhere.

As if afraid of the answer. He had grown attached to his gosling, in some odd way. Unspecific to him. He totally wasn't paternal.