Her musing was interrupted when she heard a pensive murmur from Penwright. “Perhaps it is for some ponies,” he said aloud.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Ickle asked, looking up from the book.

He was silent for a brief moment as he selected his words. “It may be a common gesture,” he said, “but there is a clear escalation of affection imparted by particular actions.”

Ickle had to press a wing against her lips to stifle a sudden giggle, her hooves already full holding the book. “‘Escalation of affection’?” she asked playfully.

Penwright chuckled and smirked sheepishly at his choice of words. “Sorry, a little officer-speak slipped out there. After sitting in a thousand meetings and briefings like I have, it rubs off on you and never goes away entirely. But, overly extraneous diction aside, my point still stands. A kiss may be as common as a hug or hoofshake, but they are not equivalent in what they mean. Thus, ponies often gauge the level of affection between two individuals by these actions. A hoofshake indicates cordiality, a hug a solid friendship, and a kiss, well, either the two individuals are family, very close friends, or, as most ponies often like to think, romantically involved with each other.”

She turned back to the book, closing her eyes to take a deep breath of the aged pages. With a gentle sigh she breathed “I would very much like to be kissed by you, truly.” With the thought of ancient trees and ink in her head, she heard Penwright sit up and slowly make his way to her. Her breathing hitched in her throat and her hide prickled slightly, feeling his eyes on her neck. Her eyes flickered open as she evened out her breathing. A flutter was rising in her breast and her heart raced slightly, but she knew better than to let it rise further. She stamped it out as she turned her eyes to the pages. His breath was upon her ears when she murmured,