“How’d you know it was me?” she asks, catching up to my side. “You stomp your feet like the ground pissed in your Cheerios. I noticed it the first night I saw you in the woods. It’s probably why I mistook you for a Sasquatch,” I tell her, and immediately lose the hold on my expression when I see her affronted one. I blow out a quick laugh, and it draws out her smile. “Ass. I guess that explains why you tried to mount me, then. You finally saw one of your kind and went into rut?”
