Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

PP, lemme know if not okay and I'll happily adjust!

Wren was increasingly becoming the bull of the china shop—each moment seemed to bolster her confidence with the stranger—and he had to refrain from reminding her that they were in the caverns of sandy hell—at the mercy of their current hosts.

A low rumble pressed at him—and as she whispered to him—low, or at least he felt low enough, but was that the effects of the fermented berries?—about how to truly treat a woman. “I intend to treat you exactly how any should treat a woman, little swan. By being a gentle man when we’re under the influence and taking you safely back to our room.” A whisper to her ear.

And then, a quick glance back over his shoulder to the man. “Thank you, Erpa-ha for your generous company,” he offered, and without waiting, the man swept himself low, throwing Wren over a bulky shoulder, despite her own height she was still leaner than him. And there, he would carry her back to their quarters.

And make good on his promise by tucking the rowdy she-wolf into bed, and allow her to sleep off the night and its indulgences.