Bitterroot Valley A Strange Kindness

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Neither the feather nor the nudge was needed to soften him. He found, now, that just the womans' presence was enough to round all of his corners and turn him into love. She led him, now, and he was content to fall into step behind her. To follow her to the ends of the earth, if she so much as joked as much.
See, for some odd reason, I don't think ye'd be able ta carry me, hun, he chuckled, now, muscles rippling clearly beneath the hairs of his pelt. Reckon it'd be pretty easy for me ta lift you, though, almost like a challenge! Akin to an odd admission of guilt. As if wordlessly revealing that he did, in fact, wish to hold her, in some manner, some way. But he pushed the thought away. Did not linger on it for too long, lest he well and truly blush.
A man, not a boy, that was what he was, and yet, he could have sworn that the last time his heart pumped this hard, he must have hardly been a teenager yearling. He moved close to her, letting their furs brush and mingle. Perhaps it was this that would share too much, rather than his loose, blabbering lips—at least, that was how it seemed, or how he felt, when she was around.
Like he could share just about anything, should she merely ask.