Wrong Foot Forward

Her body creased the snow, leaving a divot of crushed fluff to indent the plains; her voice uttering another sound of shock, which Njal once again scoffed at, except with a little more tact. It didn't last, though. The woman tried to bat at him with one large paw, and he simply reversed himself so that it missed — barely, but that could have been on purpose. A small smirk curled the edges of his muzzle. Njal wasn't happy, but it was a clear break from the serious and sullen demeanour which had plagued him for so many days.

He was having fun. But the woman, whoever she was, clearly did not like this game.

"Tch, too slow!" He chided. Njal's voice was left hanging as he moved close again, but this time, he feigned an attack. Testing her, probing with his nose in one quick movement after another. One aimed at her shoulder, another at her rump directly diagonal, then her cheek, some which poked softly and some which he placed more force behind. Njal was moving in an obvious arc around her, as if to see if she could notice this clear pattern and respond in kind. Meanwhile, he goaded her further. "You are slow like grizli bear!"

Ah, but he only jested. It was not the time or place for such behaviour, but the man couldn't help himself. He was enjoying this far too much.