Erron had heard a whole lot of tall tales and strange things in his life which, according to most had already dragged on longer than they liked, but he'd never been told nothing like that before. It made a peculiar sort of sense, he supposed, on account of how animals could scent better than any man, but Arthur weren't no bear. Not yet. Arthur returned before he had much more time to mull it over, his curiosity swept aside by the hand at his hair and the boldness with which Arthur settled himself down on his lap.

A deeper, darker curiosity was in the lack of alarm at being pinned down in his seat by a man he suspected strong enough to tear his head clean off his shoulders if he was of a mood to. How it made his heart race in his chest not with thoughts of danger, but with excitement. Erron licked his lips, his breath hitching slightly in his chest at the satisfying rasp of Arthur's whiskers along his neck, the warmth of his lips on skin tender still from the lucky sonuvabitch in Annesburg. The tip of Arthur's nose was cool against his cheek, from his own breath and the crisp morning air both.

"Y'been thinkin' 'bout me, Arthur?" Erron's head lolled back against his shoulders with nary a whisper of a rustle from the part of him that got to hissing and squaring up about exposing his throat. His fingers didn't quite slot into the divots between Arthur's ribs the same way as the first time, he noticed, the knobs of his spine less prominent along the palm of his hand.