Whitebark Stream mulberry

His head jerked in the opposite direction, tilting so that his other ear nearly touched his shoulder. Possessed? He asked, blinking innocently. He rolled his eyes back in their sockets so hard it was almost audible, as he returned his head to its usual position, like a bobblehead finally settling after a hard shake. 

But then she had to call him a goat. He snorted. Awwwww, you are soft on me. Callin’ me the Greatest Of All Time, He countered, shrugging his shoulders and mustering the most innocent fluttering of eyelashes that he could manage, though it wasn’t exactly a practiced skill of his. He chuckled victoriously. 

’Course you can trust me. I’m a trustworthy man, He said, a light tone of self-mockery in his voice. Of course men called themselves trustworthy- and of course, he knew in most cases that they were full of shit for thinking such a thing. 

He glanced in her direction before he calmed, and watched the caribou again. You’re different than what I thought you’d be like, He admitted softly.