Heron Lake Plateau Frontier whiskey

Fenn's cries of dismay fell on deaf ears. Like, literally. Fig's still deaf. But even if he had heard them, there's only about a 85% chance that he would've relented, which is indeed a high percentage, because he loves her, and probably would've been a little kinder had he any inkling of how mean she thought he was being. But again, deaf. So, mean little Fig.

He continued to waggle his arms against her, hesitating only briefly to take a moment to be stunned that this was actually accomplishing something for him. He was feeling mighty triumphant when the sister barrier began to give way and he was able to squirm on top of her. He stopped only when his squat little bean of a body was lying across her squat little bean of a body, at which point he lifted his head and cried out his victory. In his head, his voice echoed with the strength and ferocity of a lion's roar. In reality, it was a soft little coo that sounded more like he was feeling some gastrointestinal discomfort.