“Yes,” I growled, squeezing her softness harder, trying to get the tips nearer to the heat. She gave a throaty sort of gasp at that, her back arching oddly against my front. I tried to gentle my touch, terrified I’d hurt her. “If we don’t act quickly,” I explained, thinking perhaps she did not know very much about this frostbite phenomenon, “then the tips of your udders will die and fall off.” Cherry paused, and then, in a shockingly careless denial of the severity of the situation, she actually laughed.
