Moonspear Fuck you if you love a car for its paint job

I know I can be chronically wordy when it's something I do know about, he replied, though apologetically splayed his ears despite the snicker he punctuated with, self-depreciation no stranger. He did freeze up, tight-lipped, when he was less certain though. And I've had a lifetime of lessons, plus, when I was young, I was a pest with questions. Annoyed the hell out of our mom with it, believe me, from a family that doesn't always say a whole lot, he added as well, to prove his point and make it be just so much. But really, he took no offense--though he'd try not to open the floodgates so badly on her, even if she had coped with listening this time. It could be a lot to sort through. But among all the noise that does come pouring out of my running mouth, I'm glad some of it might be almost useful, he added, smirk included as she sped up a notch.

Above all, he was.. glad for a moment like this, however simple it may seem on the surface, and even if it veiled itself as duty. He watched her settled back beside him, then cast a wandering look beyond their route. The winds had shifted, though the change was terribly subtle. Smells a little like foxes.. but it might be too old to have anything to do with it, he supposed aloud, before he took a quick pause for a pee (all the talk had worked one up, apparently) on the nearest, knee-high sort of brush--honestly, he wasn't discerning enough to linger for a second thought, his focus elsewhere, on ahead. Anyway, he jogged back, squinting. Maybe it was just an overly hopeful nose, but maybe it had been something. He still didn't see any signs of actual mischief, or worse, though.

They carried on, together, with this vague pursuit and a conversation that came and went as it needed to from there.