"What is it, Krystal?" Fox asked, approaching her.
"I was just wondering how you were doing," she replied, walking toward him with that walk she's so fond of, "you seem to be a bit down lately." She was telling the truth; he had seemed a bit put-off by something lately.
"Heh. Well, ah...I guess I can tell you," he said, still approaching her. "I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately. I keep getting dreams about him and I feel like I'm going to meet him soon. I know he's dead and everything, but it just seems that way to me."
This took Krystal off-guard and her head spun for a fraction of a second. Could Fox have latent psychic abilities? This would put a wrench in her plan if he called out at the last second for help using his mind. Just then, her stomach growled and she feigned embarrasment. She said, "Oh, I see. That explains it, then." She reached out and grabbed his shoulders in sympathy, "Thanks for telling me about this, Fox. I'm glad you trust me."
Then, without warning, she shoved his long muzzle into hers, storing it in her right cheek. "Just keep trusting me, Fox. It's okay," she projected to him as he tensed up and began to struggle.