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The Chocobo's Dance

Marla's husband had died in the saddle when he was just a boy. It was the same death as his brothers, and their father, and his father. It was an honorable death for a Collie, or so people said. Regardless of whether it was honorable or not, it was a death that had left Marla and her son Jerren scarcely a pawful of gil from poverty. True, they had inherited the land that had been granted to their family by the crown, but without a large family or servants with which to work their fields it made little difference. They had been left with naught but what they could grow for themselves in the small garden plot behind their home. It was a hardship they had shared, though Marla strove to ensure that it was harder on her than her puppy.

He was Marla's cherished and only son and she refused to let him follow in his forebearers' fate-- she had said enough frequently during his upbringing through dire warnings about life as a Chocobo lancer. It had had ruined their family, and she reiterated that time and time again. They were Collies and the world was already filled with much bigger and stronger Dogs to take up the valiant call to arms that state politics so often required. Riding was in his blood, however, or so he had told himself despite her warnings and she watched helplessly as he spent his fatherless years dreaming of something more than the life he'd been dealt.

Despite her warnings, Jerren had wasted every moment he could at the Chocobo ranch down in the valley three miles distant from his home. He argued that it was worth his time working for pay but she knew that he would have gladly spent the time working for the privilege of being around the dreadful things. There were, in fact, occasional months when its retired merchant owner was unable to pay him but the young Collie continued to serve as a stable hand regardless. Although she didn't understand his obsession with what he referred to as "magnificent creatures" he argued with her that the breeder was well connected and his good will was worth its weight in gil.

That had been years in the past and in the time since he had met the right people, learned the necessary skills, and displayed the right enthusiasm to pursue a career in riding the noble birds for a living. It had helped that his father had been so well known in the small world of Chocobo riding and that Jerren even possessed his own inherited tack and harness. Despite Marla's disapproval (or perhaps because of it) he had excelled and quickly earned certification by the crown as a recognized rider. She had loudly lamented his life choices and tried to interfere in his progress but all it had accomplished was to push him away to being gone weeks at a time on the road. She realized that too late.

Instead of exactly following his father's footsteps he had avoided a military commission and the further years of training that would entail. Jerren instead called upon one of his friends to give him a probationary opportunity to ride for the merchants guild-- not as a soldier but as a courier. While still a dangerous profession, it had allowed him to travel far and wide, learning so much more about the kingdom in which he had been raised. It had also resulted in him discovering the ins and outs of simple mercantilism. Jerren used the time on the road for his own advancement by making purchases in various villages and selling them to clients on the other end of the kingdom.

Marla didn't know much of business but she had an inkling that it wasn't exactly something the merchants guild allowed and when she heard about it she expressed her doubts to her son. Regardless, using their birds to do 'favors' for a network of interesting customers had added substantially to the pittance of a pay he had been given. Somehow, despite the risks, her son had achieved success. He claimed that he owed the financial victory to following the advice of the old retired merchant who had run the Chocobo ranch. Jerren had used that information to his advantage to bend the rules to his favor very carefully and not, in his own words 'ruffle any of the feathers' of his superiors. She hated that he used metaphors like that.

She knew that succeeding at his little game had required a lot of hard work. Despite not wanting him to get involved in the life of a Chocobo Rider she had to admit that her son had earned a reputation for always going the extra mile, always arriving early, and always keeping the discretion of those that relied on him. His unusual small size and relative youth made the trips easier on his mounts and allowed him to push harder than other more experienced riders were able to manage. It had made her proud to see his success and her purse certainly didn't hurt for gil thanks to his dedication.

Regardless, she could not find it within herself to admit that going against her wishes had worked out to his benefit. Instead, Marla chose to berated him for how little money it was, how long it kept him away from their home, and how much work it had put on her to upkeep the family lands as a result. It was only during that argument that she'd found out that what he gave her was only a small fraction of what he had been earning. For each trip across the kingdom he had earned a great deal more and, instead of returning it to his mother, he chose instead to hide it in some secret place. He saved for what every working runner desired: a Chocobo of his own; he wanted to be a free rider.

She thought it was a silly endeavor; her husband had owned his own bird and all she had to show for it was an empty stall connected to their humble home. It was a worthless argument however as the teen had apparently fallen in love with each bird he'd been given to ride. During his short stays at home he'd go on and on about how different it would be to own one. It was a drug, she realized, and her son was addicted. He told her during one of his visits that it was different riding a different bird that belonged to the merchants because it wasn't his own. He would trade off birds that belonged to someone else, exchanging them along the way as needed and trading them off as if they were objects to be used and discarded.

He said he enjoyed being the saddle but as the property of the guild he had to share the Chocobo with other riders. There was no chance to bond and, despite his mother's insistence that the only bond that mattered was the one he shared with her, Jerren continued to drift further from home. If he had his own Chocobo to train, he told her, he said it would make the experience of being a courier even more to his liking, and increase his wages. That final statement made much more sense to her.

His continued flights of fancy and talk of having a partner in a Chocobo, however was just the idle prattle of a young Dog who didn't understand the world. He said he wanted to share the road's travel with not a mount, but an emotional equal. She explained that there was a great difference between a pet and a working steed but it only seemed to make him angry and he left immediately from the house, mumbling something about heading back out onto the road where people actually understood him. He'd never sounded more like his father, and she had spent the entire evening crying.

She had found the burden much easier to bear as she counted out the coins he had brought her. The weeks passed and once she had enough saved up to start spending gil in larger amounts the heaviness in her heart became that much lighter. The increase in her fortunes allowed her to become better known in the village as she finally had an excuse to linger with the other ladies of the town. She was able to dress in something that finally fit her self-image of being at least their equal. In a way it was odd to her to benefit from what she still tried to talk her son out of doing, but she managed to resist calling herself a hypocrite. What hurt more was the way he had begun to act. He was a teenager and, although he was in the latter half of those years he had begun to ignore what she imagined was her motherly-given right to authority over him.

He became a dog of his own means, choosing to make his destiny what he wished it to be, going so far as to refute and refuse everything Marla had wanted for him. Over the long months he had saved up an amount that was unknown to her; had he given her half his income? Less? She didn't know but it didn't stop her from continuing to keep him anchored firmly in their home. She made attempts to introduce him to eligible girls around town in the hopes that having a wife would encourage him keep thinking of their farm as home. At that point it wasn't so much as having hope that he would choose a different life as it was a desperate attempt to make certain that he didn't leave home for good; losing her son was one thing, but losing her son's income would only make it that much worse.

Each time she made her next attempt to cement his place in her life she had started with the impression that she was finally getting through to him but, invariably he only seemed to play along for as long as it amused him and, each time she was left surprised and embarrassed when he suddenly disappeared before the break of dawn to walk down to the Chocobo stables in search of another assignment. If she didn't know better she would have sworn that he enjoyed her frustration in his disobedience as if he were on the cusp of openly defying her expectations for him. Unfortunately, she had to admit, regardless of how much she chastised him when he reappeared she wasn't a good enough actress to hide how unabashedly happy she was that he returned to her... and brought more gil with him.

The first few days of his return were always the best. He would play the part of the dutiful son: he would work with her in the garden; he attended her trips into their nearby village; and he showered her with whatever sum he had chosen to impart upon her. That was always the start of the frustrations because it reminded her that he was withholding money. Shortly after that he would selectively refuse little requests she would make of him as a show of his independence, decline invitations to join her for dinner at a friend's home, or create a reason he couldn't go meet the newest girl she'd found for him. Whatever the refusal, he would make it in a matter-of-fact tone, all while wearing his damned smile of growing confidence.

It was the same smile he was wore when he came home one fateful autumn night. He returned out of the blue without prior announcement and quite unexpectedly, as per his usual manner. She had heard him riding up under the full moon, which was an unusual sound since he always left his mount at the merchant's stables miles down the road. It was a noise that roused her from a light sleep and she got out of bed dressed only in her nightclothes to investigate. She encountered him just as he was taking the saddle off the Chocobo's back. Instead of answering her flurry of rapid fire questions he had told her to go back inside and count a heavy coin purse for him, which was produced immediately and casually lobbed in her general direction.

The bag hit the ground and exploded in a shower of neither single copper gil coins nor ten gil silver coins, but in a rain of golden gil coins which burst forth and rolled in various different directions. Collecting them all was task enough to keep her busy and she had only just managed to retrieve them and start for the door while he finished his caring for the giant pale-feathered bird. He lingered with the animal even as she pushed the door open to the house and looked back to him to speak. "I still have some stew left... come in soon my dear and I will heat it up for you."

Even as she sat down at the table she wondered what could have created so much coin. Although the pouch did have plenty of silver and copper it was rare to see so many gold coins at a single time and the sheer volume of wealth left her speechless. It was more currency than she had seen gathered together in one place in a very long time, not since her husband had been alive and in the king's service.

It was much more than he had ever brought in before and she counted them out by candle light; her mind boggled in an attempt to try and imagine where it had come from and more importantly how she might spend it. Had he finally brought home his hidden stash? Did that mean he was home for good? The thought both pleased and worried her at the same time.

The door to the outside of the hut opened. She turned toward it to welcome her son home only to discover that she was facing his seven foot tall mount. It ducked its head so it could step through the door frame of the small hovel and its feathers puffed out as it glanced around, declaring loudly "Wark."

Golden eyes regarded her with a curious expression for just a moment before her son made a soft clicking with his tongue. The sound managed to convince it to give in to his pushes and it finally entered the enclosed area. The candle almost made the bird's pure white plumage glow with its light as it hesitantly shuffled inside at the speed allowed for by its hobbled legs. Glancing from the coins and then back to the bird she opened her muzzle and demanded in a disapproving tone. "What do y-"

No sooner had she begun than he responded by holding a paw up to interrupt her. He spoke with what she took as a degree of rehearsed impatience. "Mother, I have ridden more hard leagues than I can wholly remember today. The stable is in poor repair and you took the fence down that used to ring the pasture. Lara is staying inside with me tonight, and we can talk about it tomorrow."

She fell silence, much to his obvious satisfaction. Acting as though the discussion was over, Jerren herded the mount into the corner of the hovel where his sleeping mat had been arrayed since he was a boy. Although his tone suggested that he would accept no backtalk, she reminded herself that she was the parent and so it was her right to reprimand him for his impertinence and tell him that the large creature would not be sleeping in the house. She was just about to open her muzzle when he immediately turned back to her, his eyes as cold as the steel of a lancer's spear. "Goodnight, Mother."

He had never openly 'dismissed' her before and, seemingly without another thought he looked elsewhere, choosing instead to stare lovingly at his mount as he stroked its feathers. It stung horribly; even his father had never done something as brazen as demand to bring an animal into the house . It sat poorly with her but offset against it was the feeling that her boy had accomplished some great deed to have earned an unexpected fortune. It was a collection of treasure that he had brought home to share with her and that meant she was left sitting at the table in the center of the room, unsure how to respond.

Marla had a hard time trying to figure out where to look; on one paw her son had an ANIMAL in the house. On the other, she had more money sitting in front of her than she'd seen in one place in a long time, and that meant questions. Those questions ended up taking over even as she gathered up the bag. What had her son done that gave him so great a payment? Was the sum above-board or should she start worrying about what her son had gotten himself into? What could the household require that it had gone so long without? Would Jerren have plans for any of the coins or would he continue relying on her as the brains of the household? He hadn't given her leave to ask any of them aloud and, despite how much she hated realizing it, not having his leave meant she wouldn't be able to give them voice.

In the end she decided that keeping those questions to herself meant that she could take as many liberties as she needed to see to the finances. The more she stayed out of her son's way the more likely she would be to make the best use of the funds before her-- the gods only knew that her son didn't have the most moneywise head on his shoulders so that meant she'd be doing him a favor. No matter how bad his life decisions got at least he was smart enough to give her control of his finances, and that meant hope for him yet.

Besides, she rationalized as she climbed the narrow staircase, if she overstepped her bounds he would understand that she was his mother and mothers always knew best. That, and forgiveness was far easier to seek than permission. Smiling to herself, she retreated to her sleeping loft with the bag in one paw and a small candle in the other. Although it was getting late, she would continue working on counting out the family's newly acquired riches before bed. Such a thing wasn't avarice, it was proving her worth as a responsible caretaker of her son's wages. She was still the head of the family and it was her duty to handle such things.

The upstairs was limited to a small landing with a cot and night stand; it had been used as a guest room back when her husband sometimes had fellow riders over. Other than that the only other element to the upstairs was the door that led to her room, which was closed. Considering her paws were full, Marla had to depress the lever securing it with her paw holding the sack of coins. The bedroom was the larger of the two upstair spaces and she'd had to herself ever since her husband had been taken from her. Contemplating the many twists and turns that took her to the point of standing in the doorway of her room holding a bag of coins provided to her by her son left her reeling.

The middle-aged Collie glanced once to her bed, which had been left unmade since her departure from it when her son arrived; she would return to it, she promised herself, when her task of cataloguing her son's wages had been completed. Setting the candle down on her night stand, Marla smoothed out her nightgown and sat down on a small stool before resting the bag on the illuminated wooden surface. The bag was secured only by a loose leather strap, which had explained why it exploded so easily when it landed on the dirt path and made opening it a simple prospect. She pulled out a pawful of gil and began separating the coins into stacks based on their value; there were enough coins that she realized she'd be up for quite some time.

Somewhere after a dozen-or-so minutes into her task, Marla's concentration was interrupted by a soft but audible "Wark" of trepidation. Scowling, she spoke up. "It's not going to do that all night, is it?"

Her son coo'ed down below, addressing the bird rather than his mother. "There we are. You're doing just fine, Lara... there's a good Choco'."

Marla rolled her eyes; it was already Jerren's first night back but he was already acting as though he'd been home for a week. It was frustrating, but she resolved to ignore his idiosyncrasies in favor of finishing her duty to the household. The piles were growing rapidly and she had already counted more coin than her son had brought home during the summer in all of his trips combined-- she was not even half done. The sound of weight shuffling beneath her sleeping loft interrupted her work. She sighed, and raised her voice. "Jerren, I am not going to stand by and--"

Jerren's response was terse and held the tone of a promise. "One more word tonight Marla and I'll take my coin and go!"

The statement was accentuated by a very emphatic "WARK!"

Unsure whether to be more offended or cowed, Marla had a hard time responding to that, which was probably a good thing since she was aware that his statement was not an idle theat. Clasping her paw over her own muzzle, she refused to succumb to the indignation that challenged her resolve to comply with what was obviously a risk to her stable life. He had interrupted her, he had made demands of her, he had ordered her around, and he had called her by name!?! He called it HIS coin? Such impertinence! If his father were still alive he never would have--

Her thoughts came crashing down with that very realization; her husband wasn't still alive and that meant that she was at her son's mercy. Her mind began to run in circles trying to figure out where she stood. He had stopped providing her any sense of respect and even during the best of times he was not easily guided-- suddenly he was nigh uncontrollable. It was almost like he was going crazy. That thought caused her mind to come to a screeching halt; if Jerren was insane then he would have to be seen to. He wouldn't have access to his wages which meant that he couldn't abandon Marla and leave her a pauper.

She had just started to consider putting together the argument she'd tell the authorities when another sound from downstairs broke her concentration. It was a loud thump, followed by a trilling "W-wark". Marla was about to call out when she remembered her son's threat, and chose instead to remain silent. Rather than being left uninformed, however, the middle aged Collie moved to a large crack in the floorboard through which the lamp light from downstairs shone. As her eye focused on the view beyond, Marla's breath caught in her lungs.

The white Chocobo was positioned almost directly beneath the crack, providing her a clear picture of what was happening. Jerren's paw had slid below her belly to pet between her thighs. The bird was hobbled by walking-tethers and her son kept her in place by providing her a treat with his free paw. The teen's words were pure honey as he moved his muzzle closer to the base of her neck, nuzzling her like some kind of--

Marla pulled away from the hole in surprise and alarm when she heard her son's words "Looking good, my sweet Lara."

Even further from the small hole in the floor the woman heard the Chocobo's soft, appreciative "Kweh."

Despite her own reservations, Marla was unable to abide not knowing what was going on and she returned to her viewing hole. Jerrin's slender paws continued their movement out of view beneath the Chocobo. There were a number of things that her son COULD have been doing but, despite her wishes otherwise she realized that there was only one thing that was probably going on, and she wasn't able to delude herself into thinking otherwise.

The she-bird further dug the emotional dagger deeper by calmly stating "Wark."

Jerren slowly reached out and grabs her by the bill, keeping it shut in a brief moment. Over the pawful of seconds nothing happened and Marla was left wondering at the significance of the gesture. He just as gently released the Chocobo a moment later and then gave her a slight shove forward, pushing her so that her face was positioned in the corner of the small sleeping area below. From the new angle Marla was able to watch as the questing paw beneath the bird caressed up her inner thigh. His movements were slow and careful, not unlike the slow, reassuring touch of a caring lover.

The thought forced Marla to look away again, gritting her teeth against speaking out and denying such devilry in her home. No longer watching, she was still able to hear the continued soft motions and occasional strange bird sound and it meant that her imagination started working against her will. Convincing herself that it was far better to look than not, Marla's eyes returned to the opening in the floor-- it was NOT curiosity, she told herself; she was being a responsible mother and keeping an eye on her foolish son. Her gaze returned to the happenings just as Jerren's paw began to move over what she knew was the equivalent of the 'intimate parts' of a lady.

The Collie woman felt her ears and cheeks warm with a flush of embarrassment when she saw the way her son's tail wagged. His second paw joined the first and it looked as though he were preening her. The teen's deft fingers began to pluck out bits of dirty feather and half-worn down. He spoke as he worked. "There there... you're doing so well, my sweet Lara... almost done."

Relief flooded through Marla and she let out a breath to steady herself; she had completely misread the situation. She remembered something about her husband speaking on the importance of keeping a Chocobo clean and how the social creatures relied on preening to build attachments and-- the thoughts fell from her mind when she watched the she-bird lean forward, raising her tail and rump like some kind of heifer presenting herself to a bull. Gasping noiselessly, she fought with the part of her mind that suggested what she was seeing was probably much more innocent than it appeared to be. It was the 'probably' that kept her stunned. It also turned out to be far more astute than she'd have wished.

Jerren leaned forward, pressing his clothed body against her presented hindquarters and began to gyrate his clothed hips in a very suggestive manner. He grabbed the back of her neck with one of his paws, massaging his fingers into the feathers there while the second held her thigh to support his posture. "Oh, my sweet Lara..."

Marla swallowed her objection, finger claws digging into the wood as she saw the slut of a Chocobo present herself even more eagerly for her son's affections even as she curved her neck back into his fingers. "W-wark."

It was evident what the bird thought but SURELY that wasn't Jerren's plan. Had he brought the wild animal into her house just so he could-- no... she refused to believe that was the idea. her son wouldn't be involved in something like that. She found her eyes slowly migrating back to the stack of coins she'd set out on the night stand. just what HAD her son done for that money? The thought concerned her and her gaze returned to the scene beneath her like a passer-by would stare at a carriage crash to see if any gore was visible.

Marla watched as her son lean away enough to make room for his paw to slide between their bodies. What followed in the shadowy light was a series of awkward but excited bird noise as he maneuvered his digits; although Marla had always prided herself on her hearing she hoped she had imagined the sound of digits slipping into a tight ring of avian sex. The sound of a belt buckle being undone only further confirmed her dread and she realized that what she was watching was sordid beyond description, made only worse because she remembered suspecting her husband of something similar.

It was so outrageous at the time that she hadn't bothered pursuing the little clues as to its existence. With her son she witnessed the early stages of it in detail. The Chocobo began issuing out a soft series of warbling warks occasionally punctuated by a 'kweh', not unlike a hen clucking. She adjusted the position of her feet further apart to better support her weight, flicking her tail from side to side in response to the young Collie's probing.

Marla continued holding her breath, feeling light headed and still trying to convince herself that what she was seeing wasn't what she thought it was, right until her son's trousers fell to the ground; his erect member revealed to the world and the creature laying down before him that what was going on was exactly what Marla hoped wasn't. She was aghast, embarrassed, disappointed, reviled.... and just a little intrigued--not that'd she'd admit it. Finally remembering to draw breath, she was careful to make sure that her next one didn't come in as a gasp, and she continued watching.

Still holding the back of his mount's next the teen kicked his pants off from around his feet like a strutting rooster. The paw between the hen's legs continued moving and its effect on her was obvious. Lara's feathers puffed out in all directions and she meweled out her next lurid "Wark."

The moment Jerren brandished his penis and lined up the pointed tip with the Chocobo's sex Marla covered her muzzle to avoid crying out. He whispered softly to the hen, almost like Marla remembered her husband doing to her in their tender moments; the comparison sickened and excited her at the same time; she continued watching with less reluctance, teeth clenched in anticipation for the very moment the point of his member touched the moistened, puffy opening.

Ever so slowly he began pushing forward, pressing his tapered thickness against her opening. Even from the distance down below Marla was able to hear the rhythmic sucking-pulsing sound as he slowly, rhythmically began inching it further into her. Marla grimaced when she heard her son make what she assumed to be the impression of an affectionate Chocobo sound. What was even more scandalous was the fact that the devil bird responded by repeating it to him.

Marla watched the taboo courtship play out, her son pinching and holding the Chocobo's vent partially closed, working more of himself in against it with little nudges back and forth. Once Jerren was half-way in he leaned over the hen's body, holding the Chocobo's hips almost like his father used to do to Marla when he chose to take her from behind. She watched as her son nibbled at the feathers on the back of the she-bird's neck, making murring growl sounds as lurid as any Marla had ever recalled hearing. Her son wasn't a teen; he was a man. Judging from the lack of objection from the Chocobo he was also quite competent at what he was doing.

Lara's feathers were puffed out and her head and neck were presented as if willingly provided to Marla's son; it was disgusting and vile and despicable.... and... hot. The Chocobo continued to let out soft, encouraging warks and an occasional kweh all the while Marla maintained her vigil, face pressed firmly against the floor board as she stared down at her son and the animal from above. The Collie woman was panting, and forced herself to pay more attention to the activities going on beneath her rather than the fact that her paw had found its way into her night gown. The Chocobo seemed to be enjoying itself... so much.

Her son was gentle in the fucking of the hen, that much she could tell. Although Marla had lost track of how long Jerren had toyed with the bird, she realized that at least a minute had passed with him gently working himself against the hen's insides; by that time his father would already have slammed his knot in but, every now and again, when Jerren moved just right she could tell that his was still on the outside. Would he stick it in the beast? She fervently prayed that he wouldn't-- but some small part inside her cried that it would be a shame if he didn't finish; it was the same part that had her fingers moving against her own so-moist sex.

Jerren continued rutting the hen, his thrusts coming quicker and more shallow. The change in his hold and movements gave Marla an even better view of their joined sexes and she watched the lurid display as the noise increased; the fucking was becoming even more enthusiastic and, for a moment, she saw her son as a triumphant hedonist as he played the part of every bad Chocobo rider joke's punch line. She'd been married to one; she'd heard them all. At that point Lara had her head pushed against the wall so she could force her body back against Jerren's groin; the hen was enjoying her son and, despite her lack of willingness to face it, Marla had to admit that she did too. The Collie woman added a third finger to the two at her labia, running her middle finger more firmly against her clitoris as she fought back her own gasp.

The Chocobo's talons scrambled against the floor without purchase and Marla watched as the bird forced herself back in time with Jerren's next thrust resulting in their hips fully meeting and even from that distance the middle aged Collie winab could hear the pop as her son's knot was swallowed up by the hen's egg-hole. A squawking 'WARK' was the only sound from the Chocobo, but Jerren's gasp was erotic in the way to which nothing else Marla had ever heard could compare.

Lara's tail quivered in response to the invader and the feathers all across her body puffed up and out; Marla's fur did the same, and she gently cupped and squeezed her breast, thumb toying with the nipple as she lay on her side to continue watching her son perform in a way she had never witnessed before. She knew for certain that she had never been fucked with such abandon and with such passion; each thrust eliciting a combination of discomfort and ecstasy as she sought to match each of his movements against her own opening with her fingers.

Churning noises of passion followed as Jerren rutted even harder, obviously chasing the impending orgasm up inside his hen. Suddenly, all at one he collapsed across the back of her wide hips and Marla was forced to pull her tongue back into her muzzle as she watched her only son's tail flag in time with what was obviously his eager ejaculations. She imagined a closer experience of her boy's virility, almost able to envision him surrendering himself to her. It made her hate the Chocobo even more.

Panting from exertion, Jerren remained where he was, holding the Chocobo like the combination of a lover and mattress. Marla couldn't resist any longer and she gave into her own ministrations, biting down on her lower lip as she writhed in the heat of her own orgasm, muscles twitching and spasming as the experience took every last ounce of logical thought in her mind and left her only wanting more. She didn't know how much time had passed as she rode the waves of ecstasy, ending her squirming elation with her eye peering back down to the first floor.

Jerrin remained right where he was still locked to the hen, but he was looking up. Had he heard her? She didn't know, but she could see that he was smirking.