Jade Fern Grove chafa

Inward she swept—was that a flash from behind him, in the sky? Either so, or she was illuminated a moment as he realized he had lost her—as if again, except this time she did not brandish him with words and teeth, but with the announcement she and Wren were living their cozy life amongst the hollows. Both pregnant—the fathers an unknown mystery and unimportant to them.

He stole a moment—inhaling sharply—before stepping in as well. The curl of her tail acted a shield—a far cry from moons ago when instead of ensuring distance from him she would be in his arms.

Now, he placed his back to the cavern wall—head craning back, allowing the dampness of the stone to hold him for now as his eyes traced the crevices of stone and grime.

The rain outside was a symphony of tears—and if he could ever believe in the Goddess, he would consider that she wept for him now as the storm raged on.

Silvertongue remained silent—and then, a gasp of pain that drew him from his own—his form fleeting as he would initially begin to move toward her, and then halt abruptly, eyes searching her face.

Wife of another. He knew, if he touched her, she would brand him once more.

“Mo anam cara,” he murmured, the loss of her tracing each syllable as he rumbled lowly. “I have lost you… So why are you even here?”

Beseeching—the knowledge flitting between them as electrical as the storm outside. He knew she knew. She was meant to be with him—and him her. “You aren’t here demanding answers about Eshe, or worried that I’m lonely. You aren’t here to tell me of how happy you are, mated to Wren and pregnant.”

And then, his eyes traced her, and he drew forward—his soul be damned, his muzzle sweeping down to stare intently in her eyes, inches from slanting his lips to her own—to claim them as he once had before. “You aren’t here to just tell me that you would have come to me first in your heat if there was not something more. So tell me. Why are you here?”