Moonspear like the legends of the phoenix, all ends with beginnings

The comfortable teance was gently broken; a throaty hum of appreciation left him as she finished. Though he could not see her handiwork, he believed she had done more rhan her share of work. His own, he believed, would be a far cry in comparison. Grooming did not have the same ritualistic value that she put into it. His own kin had held fast to some state of wildness in their tousled coats, even if there was a certain decorum that they did follow. In time he would no doubt return to that, but he wouldn't reject this ordeal. His gaze sought her own as she shifted ahead, and wordlessly his muzzle came to hover over the dark hairs of her shoulder.

Dirge surveyed the curves there, drawing in her scent among others on inhale. He began gentle, teeth raking through her topcoat. There may as well been not a single hair out of place until then; she seemed far more relaxed on contact than he had been. But every comb and tease was trial and error and he listened with a turned ear for signs that it was wrong or right.