There are fewer things more satisfying in the world than getting to Adora, and it makes it much easier for Catra to stroll back to the abandoned start of the campfire, brushing the accumulated leaf litter from her fur as she goes. She almost makes it all the way there when her ears prick back, Adora's voice easy to pick up across the short distance. She braces herself to be tackled, but instead it's her hand that's grabbed; and Adora places the pouch there, and suddenly it's very, very warm out here.

Stupid. It's stupid. Adora touches her hand all the time, gives her things all the time. And it still makes Catra feel...

...Special. Every time.

She scoffs, ears flicking with embarrassment as she fights the urge to yank herself away.

"I didn't want them anyway," she lies. But she takes the pouch with her other hand, so she can turn her wrist in Adora's grasp and shift to link their fingers together. Still embarrassed, but better at dealing with it now than she was a few months ago.