Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

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Akavir's words echo in Wren's zonked-out little mind. Honesty. Honesty? What the hell was he going to say? While she had tried so hard to bite her tongue, agree with him in relative quiet — which, as she would have added if she were vocalizing this, was damn near impossible for her even while she was sober?
She slithers in her seat, every bone in her body telling her to nip just behind that feathery little ear atop Akavir's head and tell him to— no, oh my God, don't do that!
Unless.
Senmut was right there, too, and surely he had parts that could—
No, no, nope! Nope nope nope! She'd crush him beneath her anyways.
She remains silent as the burn of the berries stills in her throat and the wrinkles of her brain slowly get steamrolled. Eagerly, she awaits Akavir's cue of honesty, if she were so lucky as to get to take her own bite out of that pie.