Whitebark Stream put your ring back on honey-tits, you haven't had enough porridge this morning (mtr.)

wintersbane's digging wrought victory for with a tug from the pale sylph herself, aure is free! relief causes the tundrian to slump slightly against the uneven snow and he aims to cast her a smug, side glance only to be taken throughly off guard by her utter excitement at being free. aure's gratitude is unparalleled as she then begins to pepper him in a flurry of kisses all over his cheeks and temples. and now it's wintersbane's turn to gasp for air as he lifts his chin. because damnit he wants to give her a hard time about it and it's impossible to taunt her — in good nature — when she's showering him with her gratitude along with a whole slew of words he doesn't know.

ok, ok, ok. like an owner to their over excited doggo that hasn't seen them in a few hours that felt like eighty four years. the flurry of kisses ends with a nipping kiss to his temple, allowed with a wag of his tail in the snow that unintentionally forms a mini snow-angel wing. i should rescue you more often. the tundrian flirts with a crooked grin and rolls his eyes theatrically as she pouts up at him and tells him that she isn't a damsel in distress.

bullshit. wintersbane counters with a snort that couldn't be more condescending. you think so? then what d'you call that? he gestures with a large paw to the heap of snow where she'd been stuck and he'd dug her up. because i'd definitely call that a situation in which you were, in fact, a damsel in distress.