it is early when rusalka rises from slumber, slipping out of the den he shares with his family and takes to the borders. the world 'round them grows colder by the day, it feels like. the chill in the air nips at his nose, lingers like tiny icicles in his lungs.
refreshing. numbing.
a dense fog blankets the forest even as the sun begins to rise; though the world remains painted in drab greys from the thick storm clouds that hang overhead.
focus slips between the scents and his thoughts, no though nothing out of the ordinary calls to his attention.
with his early morning patrol wrapped up, rusalka detours towards the heart of the plateau seeking his queen wife
@Solveig.
Their new lands had become a comfortable home to her already. With winter's chill creeping up on them each and every night, spreading frost with its gentle touch, she knew they had made the right decision to move. She couldn't see the nearby peaks due to the fog and low-hanging clouds, but she knew they would be white with snow already.
She had caught a rabbit for their stores, and had taken it to the clearing to bury it where it would be far from the borders and safe. She crossed this way and that through the meadow with the rabbit in her mouth, knowing she would be leaving behind a confusing trail- and when she felt she had nearly danced through the entire meadow, she buried the rabbit.
It could be a treasure hunt, for the children, later.
It was her beloved who appeared in the meadow first, and the sight of him moving through the mist was both impressive and alluring. She smiled and watched him move at first, highly appreciative of his form. Her gaze drifted down his long, tough legs, and back up past his shoulders to his jawline, and eventually back to his gaze.
She had done well in choosing a man those visage would always make her chest bloom with warmth.
my valkyrie queen,
croons rusalka to his wife in greeting upon her approach; whiskey steeped baritone partially amused ( if because he still isn't sure he understands what a valkyrie was ) but mostly warmed and honeyed with unfettered affection.
he closes the distance between them, to draw his nose against the underside of her muzzle; in deference to rank; though the trail of kisses left in the wake of touch were all husband and less subordinate.
he presses his muzzle to her cheek then, for a moment, drinking in her scent before he pulls back slightly.
our children grow by the day,
he murmurs with a soft pining. soon, they would not need them. soon, they would be finding their own way in the world. already leifa speaks grandly of seeking adventure outside of our borders.