[PRP] It was a Cough that Carried Him Off [Once More/Near]

[Maxx D]

"- but to a doe who sought to mock him," he retorted, rising from his rest.  

[Jun D]

“Then don’t draw drafts from empty vessels,” she cried at his ire, hardly caring at that moment she was tarring, too, herself, “knowing them to be empty.”

Perhaps she should have completed the limerick, after all.  

[Maxx D]

He took deliberate steps to the plateau, his hooves clicking calmly across the stone, until he was pressed flank to flank, muzzle uncomfortably close.

"Then give me something else," he hissed, his teeth still showing.  

[Jun D]

Past the anger, she realised, she quite liked him like this. At least he was no longer as pretentious.

This, she was more familiar with than poetry.

She bore his press for a moment, then slipped away.

“I haven’t tried your coughing drink yet,” she said.  

[Maxx D]

"You may," he trailed back to the steaming shell. "Then we'll settle the trade."  

[Jun D]

Later, she would reflect she didn’t care much for the drink, but she quite liked the buck, after all.

END