Ravensblood Forest you found me and i found you

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Their children, still within her womb, have no place yet in Family business, nor would they for the first few months of their lives. He has always thought of his Teaghlaigh as a well oiled machine and accordingly Arturo acknowledges that it well not always run so smooth. It certainly hasn’t the past month or so. There were shattered cogs and debris in between the teeth of the machine that disrupted everything. As it is, he is still not sure that it is completely back to pristine, working order but it is, at least, working. He is like the mechanic: that works on it with undeniable love for the machine though he feels great frustration and ire at times at it. He thinks sometimes about walking away in the tantamount of his ire and frustration, to let it crumble and rust away to nothing but he knows he never will. He knows, like the mechanic, that without him the machine will not run and that even if it did no one could ever, truly, replace him. He loves Teaghlaigh, and he loves Ravensblood Forest, and though they do not always see eye to eye he loves the wolves that make up the Family. They are Family and Arturo Fearghal does not abandon family (technically his leaving of Quicksilver Hollow was not abandonment as it was pre-meditated and discussed).

His thoughts are far away for a few moments but he feels the kisses Lotte offers him, the preen of her tongue and her teeth against his fur that leaves him with a delicious shudder that slithers down his spine. The gangster makes a low noise in his throat that forms into “I love you.” in the smoky timbre of his voice, murmured low, meant for her and her alone though in truth Arturo does not care who hears his declaration. Arturo Fearghal has never been a man good with expressing his emotions but he wants to remind Lotte that he loves her frequently so that she might never forget. He watches her with his flame touched irises as she sprawls upon the ground and rolls to her back, looking up at him. Mindful of the babes in her womb he moves to hover over her, bowing his head down towards her so that he might brush his muzzle and tongue against the curve of her chest. “I love you,” He murmurs again, before with a smirk that would do the devil proud he moves his muzzle to her cheek where he hopes to let a love nip. “I love you, Lotte.” He whispers a final time, his muzzle close to her ear before he draws back some. “Have you felt them move, yet?” He asks, meaning the product of their love: their children growing within her.

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