Peyote’s eyes narrowed more sharply on her, studying. Somewhere inside him he felt as if he wanted to laugh, just seeing how wide her eyes grew at the first sight of him and how she shied from him as though some physical barrier lay between them. The mischievous side of him wanted to keep pushing it, to see how far he could get with her before she gave in and let him close. The predominantly male-brained side of him was remembering how nice it’d been to put his mouth on her skin the night before.

He kept himself where he was standing and didn’t push any closer to her, despite his desire to.

“The swamp.” He answered, then tilted his head as he slid his eyes off of her and looked out into the same murky swamplands she did. Most of the time, Peyote would decide that had been enough of an explanation. Instead, he spoke again. “Alligators and Lagoon boys, herd stallions in the Commons after that,” he offered, voice still softly quiet, and only then let his eyes flick back toward her, a bit of a smile cracking beneath his mud-caked, whiskered lips, “don’t know which one is worse.”

He grunted and gestured toward his island behind her that he'd driven her to the night before. "Safe." Then he tilted his head back toward the swamp, pointing his muzzle off at the direction she'd been ready to flee into alone. "Dangerous."