You think it's a he? [Chase looks down with a grin and a raise of one eyebrow.] Nature shows us time and time again, it's always the women who are going to rip you apart.

[Once out of the range of that great toothy muzzle - so oddly recognisable and yet nothing quite like any of the versions Hollywood has postulated on - he takes his arm back. Almost apologetically, as though trying to protect (as though protecting would be possible in the face of an actual threat) was somehow a liberty on his part. He bumps his shoulder lightly with hers to make up for the loss, now watching the scuff of his feet on the dirt path.]

Neither can I, and it's been two months.