Stavanger Bay Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy

The deeper meaning of the Vows had eluded the black-banded Cairn somewhat — he had repeated them with fervor because she had said them, and there was something pleasing to him about the symmetry of his mirrored speech. Truth be told, Doe could have solemnly recited a recipe for apple pie or read from a textbook about horticulture and he would have accepted those words just as readily. What mattered to Szymon was their shared ownership of one another, officially sanctioned by the Leviathan — and the consequences of their coupling didn’t occur to him until Doe — his mate! his! — began to nibble at his chin. “Doe,” he said in a low, sated, utterly content timbre. “What if you — what if we — ” The stutter was completely gone from his tone, his words having an almost drunken quality that presented as a leisurely drawl, but he found it hard to find the words regardless. “What if we get pregnant?” is what he wanted to ask, but what tumbled rather stupidly out of his mouth pushed all of his worries aside. Casting her a sly sidelong glance, “I think,” he said, his spine shuddering at the memory of his first clumsy attempts and the glory that had overtaken him, “maybe we need to try it again — just to make sure. I could use the practice.” A toothy, greedy grin spread goofily over his ink-lined lips.