He would have snapped that he was not stubborn, only practical, but that would just have added fuel to the fire, and frankly, he just didn't have the energy. Fine. He was stubborn. So be it. He was perfectly fine with that, if it meant he could keep what little dignity he had left after being violently accosted by plant life. Which he was certainly never going to admit to. If anyone asked, he was going to say he was tossed around by something twelve feet tall with hideous fangs and claws. Certainly not by a flower while on an herb-gathering expedition. That was just horribly unmanly, really.

"I didn't make you do anything." He was just splitting hairs now, but he didn't really care. He had the fork and--

He didn't have the fork. Well, that was apparently what he got for mentally questioning a genius swordsman's dexterity. Forkless. Forknappd. Devoid of eating utensils. He was about to protest, loudly, but then the words 'indirect kiss' hit his brain, and his body apparently decided he'd be better off sputtering like a stupid, embarrassed teenager.

Oh, he really hated mornings.