Falls of the Hinterlands and i'm always tired, but never of you

nathaniel drew closer, his touches soft, his grooming of her careful; mona blossomed in his embrace, turning her small head to and fro, so that the rochester could reach the places she was not able. the fragrance of the flowers rose around them from a petal crushed here and there, bringing another smile to the mayfair's crimson features, her eyes shutting in enjoyment of her pelt finally being righted after so many days of unkempt existence.
more than that, mona, beneath nathaniel's satisfied, slow persual of her velveteen ears, felt the rush of blood to her head, and the familar tightening in her abdomen for which she still had no name. awash in the security felt at the falcon's nearness, the witchspawn dared to lift her head under his ministrations and dart her tongue against his lips, just once. the burn of it scorched mona immediately, but she forced herself not to pull away, to keep her eyes on the rochester with a sudden delicious thrum of apprehension at how her boldness would be taken.