Moonspear [m] the suspension of disbelief

She had to call him out. He didn't appreciate it, and responded with a jab of his own: "Maybe I'm just worried you're gonna smack me again," he teased, purposefully misrepresenting the previous incident.

But his appreciation for the moment was undeniable. He pressed his nose tentatively to the smooth fur at the back of her neck, breathing in a smell that was subtly different from the one that rolls off of her, than the one that she left behind on the borders. Stronger and deeper, with a musk that was pleasing to a base and secret part of him.

He felt differently about her, suddenly. Something new was unfolding inside of him, creating a space where — for now — only Treepie resided. It was a space much like the one he held for the mountain itself: possessive, protective, territorial.

He was at that age, after all.

"I like this," he told her, his voice coming out in a shaky sigh. And then, more firmly, "I like you."

He didn't know what was next, or even what this moment meant. Was this courting? It felt more like canoodling, but things seemed different here than he'd learned back in his homeland. He supposed it would be up to Treepie.