Moonspear champagne

A volley of nips met him as he stood above her; Dirge returned them nip for nip, reaching to pluck at the thick hairs of her shoulder. His tail swung in a wode arc—it had been far too long since his last rousing opportunity for play. The pallor that had hung heavy over the mountain was absent in these fleeting moments as Hydra grabbed for his scruff, a playful growl rumbled low in his throat as her teeth sought and found purchase there.

With her illusion cast, he suspected she intended to use him to right herself in the snow bank. Dirge steadied himself but not before pressing his snout against the snow-dusted tendrils of her coat. A subtle gesture to encourage keeping their closeness came bravely, and he had long left the bastions of gentlemanly wisdom to fall prey to an enchanting temptress.