Little Goat Mountain the red string of fate tugs at my heart

He chuckles lowly when obvious irritation contorts her pretty face and fills her fiery irises. “Don’t give me that face, dear.” He hums in a faux pouty voice.

After they share a confirmation look he’s scooting closer to her, possibly only a couple inches keeping them apart if she allows it. He leans in to whisper so the animals don’t hear them. “We’ll scope out the herd, find the smallest or weakest one and target it.” He flicks his eyes over to her face. Briefly and shamelessly taking in her features for a second before continuing. “If you want to take the first bite when I signal, I can come in with a final blow and hold ‘em down well enough for you to fuck ‘em up. Sound good?” He asks with an excited smirk and suggestive twinkle in his starry eyes, waiting for her to speak her opinion of the plan.