Oh what a lovely little blush. Peter can't hold back the grin anymore, but it's colored by a definite interest seeping into the teasing. He doesn't let Murdoc back off, pursuing with almost predatory intent and then leans in to whisper against Murdoc's ear. Still ostensibly teasing, but he does mean what he's saying. "With that sweet, rosy glow, you must be drowning in suitors."

Then he backs off, rakes his eyes down Murdoc as much for his own enjoyment as for the teasing and slips off further into the woods as if nothing happened. Just through the trees is a very pleasant glade with a small herd of unicorns. The reason for Peter's concern is instantly apparent. Spring is foaling season, and there are some very young foals and some still pregnant mares. He goes still at the very edge and calls out in a very soft voice, waiting for them to come to him.