Sun Mote Copse Southern motherfuckin' Democratic-Republicans!

Fig's smile became strained with awkward the moment she mentioned looking better from the behind. He realized abruptly that he hadn't thought this through. He was going to be behind her. Inexperienced as he was, he knew that when it came to the uh... the things... that the guy was supposed to go... behind. And now he'd just managed to get her to go in front of him. He felt a spasm of horror as it occurred to him that she might think he'd done it on purpose. But he hadn't! And... and no, there was no reason for her to think that. He was fine.

But. She'd volunteered to go in front. Had that been a...?

Figment gave his coat a shake to settle himself, trying to brush all of those thoughts away. He was being absurd. He smiled again. "Go ahead, thirty steps and you're there," he said, gesturing her forward with his muzzle while simultaneously coaching himself not to think of her ass while they walked, but to think only of the grotto they were on their way to.