Banjo paused his childish endeavour briefly to stretch his long body, whiskery nose to the very tip of his powerful, curved tail. It seemed he hadn’t avoided war-wounds in Larue’s little game, and muscles that he didn’t even know existed, screamed protest through his shoulder. He eyed her quietly through the process, watching, because she was small, undoubtedly nimble, and there was no saying what other traps and tricks she had in store; of course there was gentleness in his expression most notably, because she was inescapably endearing.

“I’m a…” he began to answer while his mouth held not more matter to feed her mischievousness - but he paused. Was this the first time he’d actually labeled himself something (well aside from the consequence of his folks’ devious one-night stand)?

“A… a horsaroo of course!”

Of course!

His own pride dimmed momentarily as the sound of her puny (but uncannily loud) voice cracked the still silence. “Yeah?” he answered promptly, settling into a comfy posture post-stretch. He chuckled softly at the bright, overly excited embodiment she was.

“Deeper?! Whadya think I’m a flamin wombat girlie?” Banjo grinned down at the little creamy filly, utterly flattered that she might figure him to be in some way useful - there wasn’t anything at all handy about having half of one thing and a bit of another pumping through your bloodstream. He laughed loudly thereafter and agreed, “reckon I can, yeah!”

Seizing the opportunity to flaunt his masculine brilliance (a little lady like Larue was no match, clearly), the boomer shuffled over to her pit and glanced in - wariness born from experience pulled back his broad shoulders. Green eyes slipped via the kid one last time to wink suavely, and then very slowly he used the opposite wall to lower his front half in… down.

Digging the dirt was a piece of cake - Banjo nailed that, but how the hell he was going to get it all out to make it deeper was beyond him. “Errrr… Squirt, chuck us a… um… oh god no…” How was he going to get himself out, again!. He coughed (spluttered a little), pretending that all was well down there, but it really wasn’t, and to add fuel to the fire, a fluttery little cockroach had slipped down from the hole’s brim to join him and the smelly dirt. Leaning on his left hand, the bronze buck swiped at the pest, but it was a quick little sucker and he had to bite his tongue hard to save from squealing.