Porcupine Ridge Crafted, holy, rolling thunder

The pinecone returned, clonking her on the head before clattering to the dirt, she'd look at it with through a tilted gaze, with one eye and then back to him. Oh I dare ya to. She'd quip musefully and snap at one of his legs, teeth skimming the air between; red matched red in staredown, a lingering tease beneath it all.

N' since when am I polite company? She raised a brow, finally peeling herself from the ground and shaking the dirt from her fur; further punctuating her statement with her own disregard for where said dirt landed. Do you not get bored? We could do things, y'know. I don't like to be bored, you shouldn't settle either.

Terrible influence, she was. What was life without thrill?