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Full Version: [m] xxxxvi. from the perfect start

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set for 06/10/2021. @Adrastus I’m just gonna keep things vague regarding their marriage for now since I’m not sure exactly which one would have come first. (Them becoming official mates or them conceiving their kids lol.)

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When brother sun rose, bringing with him clinging humidity as he raked the golden fingers of his rays across the earth and stole the dew from the grass, he would be greeted by Lótë where she worshipped him within the refuge of her hidden glen high in the mountains. She had stolen away to her secret place some nights before, not out of any intention to hide from the moonwife she had come to call sister or the man who would be her husband. Rather, in the past week she had begun to feel claustrophobic within the walls of the Spine where usually she felt safe, secluded. Even amongst the elevated terraces of the upper ring where it felt one could touch the sky, the morning dove had felt her skin prickle and tighten around her bones — wondering if this was how the snakes felt when they shed their molting skins.

The cloudberry woman took deep, measured breaths from her place in the heart of the tiny hollow — willing the warmth of brother sun on her face and the sweet melody of the summer morning awakening around to clear the static from her mind. But the herbologist could only fight the urge to fidget and chew at the inside of her cheek, her thoughts whirling in a chaotic loop, for so long before at last her peridots opened and she heaved a sigh. The two-year rose to her feet and gave a shake of her dew-dampened pelt, not unlike a bird ruffling its feathers after a rainstorm, as if she could shake off the rising agitation.

Lótë returned to the sloped, stargazing stone she’d slept atop for the past two nights and retrieved the ptarmigan skin she’d delicately skinned from her last hunt from its base. Kukutux’s offer lingered heavy in her thoughts, taking root in her heart as it seized with a terrible thought that she was simply too young and her season would not come until the following spring. The deerskin agouti bit back the bitter fear as she gingerly collected the thin skin in her jaws, settling herself alongside the stone which was still cool from the night.

If she and Adrastus did have children this year, it was better to be prepared, she reminded herself as she began to pluck the feathers and down from the birdskin with her teeth. The feathers might line their den and the skin, though thin, would make a soft hide once she was done with it — perfect bedding for a whelping den. Yet, even this important task failed to soothe her frayed nerves and eventually Aiwë set the project aside before springing to her feet again.

Restlessly, the Epsilon began to pace — tamping down the urge to shudder or shiver every few seconds with some repressed need that she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Finally, she stilled in the middle of the clearing, trembling with an onslaught of emotion — longing, anxiety, irritation, fear, confusion — and her eyes shining with stubbornly repressed tears at the helplessness her body was inspiring with such feelings.

What’s wrong with me?

With calm, wordless patience the male had attended to his new bride, mindful and patient, doting on her with gifts and food, while maintaining his place at her side. Outwardly, he was not a physically affectionate wolf- and his presence spoke more than his actions. Faithful, he was with her every day, and every night that they shared his den together. He sought her out to enjoy her company, setting aside time to spend with her while still maintaining a somewhat respectful countenance. Being married was as new to him as it was to her- and while he did dote upon her, he had wanted to remain respectfully abstinent until nature called for them to be united.

And when that day came, it brought about with it a feeling of excitement and trepidation both, for the man who know only how to woo and comfort, but not consummate. He had willed for this day to come, but now when he tracked her down, knowing that he would have to set aside all other obligations to tend and guard her, he caught himself feeling nervous about whether or not he might meet her expectations. The basic mechanics he knew- but the rest they would have to discover together.

He thought he saw a wondering, fretting look upon her features when he finally tracked her down. He was relieved she was alone and that no other had dared to try and take what was rightfully his. He wouldn't leave her now, not for fear that she might come within harm's way. He wondered, though, given how she looked, if she knew what she was experiencing. He approached, and uttered a sound more guttural and longing than he had ever uttered before. "Lótë, my wife," He crooned, and reached to pull her toward him, so that he might bask in the sensation of finally getting to hold her as closely as he had wanted to.

So distracted was the wren by her discomfort, she didn't realize she had been found until her husband broke the silence. Her heart gave an initial jolt of fear -- green gaze flying to meet willowbark -- but settled as soon as she caught sight of his pale build. She went to him eagerly, not entirely understanding why she wanted to be so close to the wintry he-wolf so badly but desperately desiring his comfort and touch. As she curled against Adrastus' broad chest, Aiwë thanked the spirits again. Even if the turn of events that led her to Moonglow had been harrowing, she would have gladly done it over a dozen times again if it meant meeting Sialuk on the Glacier and joining Moonglow.

She had grown to love the spiritbear in the brief time they had been married. It might have seemed fast or odd to outsiders but she had known him since before the village was even established as a pack, when their borders were just warning flags to other rogue wolves. They had been close friends for almost as long, living together had only allowed her to see the depths of the tundrian's being. He was not so affectionate as her birth tribe so she had pulled back some -- touching him only occasionally and innocently, going no further than to kiss him sweetly at times or brush her temple against some part of his stocky build. But she had no doubt that he felt similarly for her, even if he did not love her yet.

He was a snowfall shadow that came and went -- a reassuring presence that was never far, even if she couldn't see him. Truly, it didn't feel as if the Gamma were ever gone. Adrastus' scent clung to her, to their ulaq, to her garden, to the trails she followed everyday. He was always there, even if he was not present. Sivullik was a seldom-spoken man but his soft chatter and chuckles would still the dove in any task, ears rising as if she didn't wish to miss a word. Whenever the icebear did speak, it was always something worth listening to. It was the smallest things he did: helping her with chores, surprising her with things he had found while hunting or patrolling, taking it upon himself to assist in preparing their den for the litter they hoped to have. Even just joining her when she needed to trek into the depths of the pines and sit in silence, recharging her introvert's battery and mutely watching the birds.

Lótë didn't know when she lost her heart to him, only that it was fast and sudden.

She had thought they might consummate their marriage the night they moved in together, as many couples did in her natal tribe. But now she was glad they had waited, for the chance to fall for him first, or would be if she realized what was happening -- Adrastus was right in assuming that she hadn't realized her fever had struck. Her dam had perished before she had ever gotten any sort of 'talk' and Kukutux was the only woman who had ever bothered to speak with her about any such subjects though they hadn't gone into any depth.

The herd-watcher was just grateful for his touch, for how it soothed the whirlwind under her skin. Still the press of him against her spurred other thoughts, her fawn cheeks flaming beneath their fur as her evergreen optics slide aside and down. She attempted to smother the hormonal line of thought, keeping quiet for she didn't want to do anything to make the Baptiste feel pressured. She was happy to wait until he was ready.

For now, the cloudberry tried to focus on the bigger issue at hand. "Adrastus," she whispered in return, her tongue feeling somehow thick in her mouth though her head was clear and unintoxicated. "Something is wrong."

---

He hushed her, gently, his muzzle gliding along her cheek and down to where her pulse raced against the slight hollow at the base of her throat. A curious noise escaped her, a heavy swallow following as the ivory hunter's teeth teased along the curve there. Soft words flowed from his maw, some lost in the press of lips and small space between them.

But it was the coaxing, reverent affection and the press of him against her, folding over her, that was most reassuring. It was comforting rather than ensnaring, promising that -- as he had murmured against her -- that nothing was wrong.

The memories sprang forward as the spiritbear encircled her but she forced them back, focusing on the present as she twisted in his embrace to plant a few kisses along the underside of his neck and jaw where she could reach. She would not allow them to ruin the beauty of this; becoming wife and mother.

When at last the girl of autumn woods and morning mists melded with the he-wolf of winter, there was no disquiet. Only the ebb and tide of give and take between the pair like the steady crash of waves against the shores, a physical culmination of the fondness growing betwixt them.