*Left in Tenneson’s lunch sack*
The sun beat down on the back of his neck, covered by dirt and sweat as he hit his backside against the downed tree. His lungs exploded with a heavy sigh, aching muscles in his arms rolled around while he got comfortable. His beard had grown in fully, the bristles nudged by a curled finger to scratch at his cheek. With a cant of his head and roll of his eyes he reached for the pack. Inside was a rolled sandwich, this one stacked with roasted beef and pork, and layered with creamy oil and cheeses. Yet it wasn’t the typical foil he’d expected, but a photo that held his lunch. Even as he took a bite he unfurled the glossy finish and eyed the familiar face. “Well....Miss Georgie...” He found a moment to pause, and for a brief second his face softened. A tinge of heat touched his cheeks and he smiled a subtle, little quirk into his lips. “Y’love’a runnin’ can’t be denied...but this is...perfect. Like th’thing’s in yer blood...which...supposin’ it is....Y’look like y’could dart off any second...dimples’n yer cheeks’n everything...N’I’d be right behind ya...every step’a th’way.” The sandwich was forgotten as he talked to no one but himself, enough that he didn’t even notice the faint tugging on the end of it until he looked over. Like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, or in this case half a sandwich in her maw, Duchess froze and looked at him. Alarm registered in her eyes as she did naught but study the Hunter, and all he could do was loft a brow. Incredulously she closed her mouth the rest of the way, and slowly...arrogantly...sawed the sandwich in half and sauntered back a few steps, chomping all the way. “Y’lucky I don’t shoot ya...damnable wolf.”