King Elk Forest tell me again how rome burned, how our bodies became the sun

Mato’s heart is in his throat as his question hangs in the air between them. It is hard to breathe around it as it pulses and his throat tightens with razor sharp anticipation. He’s never been so nervous in his life and he does not know what to do with these nerves: how to process them because he’s always been confident. Sometimes even to the point of lofty arrogance. In this, however, he is not confident, not arrogant. He cannot and would not predict her response. He takes a ragged breath as he counts his heartbeats in his head and watches as she rushes towards him without verbal response. His muscles pull taunt but the druid does not expect violence. Not from her …and there was no sign of aggression. Still, it is fight or flight instinct that governs the coil of his muscles only to relax as she buries her face into the fur of his neck. His ears pivot atop his head as he tries to puzzle out if that was meant to be an answer or not and if it was which path it took: a yes or a no. She saves him from the over analyzing he was fully prepared to do by offering him a verbal confirmation. So…then, they were mates. Anxiety aside that had been …relatively easy. “Perhaps we should start a tradition in Tindómë to honor newly mated pairs. A feast or celebration or something.” Because Mato feels like there should be something more. Something that follows the proposal and agreement. He really doesn’t know of any traditions to celebrate a newly mated pair ( because he’s never asked ) but the druid is perfectly willing to start one unique to Tindómë, so long as she was willing, of course. He didn’t wish to put her in any spotlight that she does not want to be in. They discuss it a bit further in light tones but when quiet settles between them Mato only seeks to relish in her company before duty calls him back once more.