Lost Creek Hollow my light

back and forth roved wolf and bull, until the heavy hooves seemed that they would cleave the leader's head. beneath the lifted leg he soared to tear chest and score; he was kicked aside into the soft snow as new blood caused new panic in his quarry.

sun eater ran the bull down the slope into the stones which lurked just under the snow, and in time a loud snap resounded in the wintry sky, followed by a screaming bellow.

bruised body panted after, saliva dripping from his tongue as he grabbed for the failing throat and held through the throes of dying caribou.

blood stained the drifts, brightened his own dark coat. morwenna had added her own wounds to the hide, but until the adrenaline released him he did not see them all.

and when he did, the great scarlet-soaked grin was for her, pride in the kill she had helped him to make. it sealed them in all the ways of his people, now her own through their union.

his gaze caressed her as she moved.

morwenna’s chest heaved with every labored breath, the chill of the air biting at her lungs and mingling with the fire coursing through her veins. she stood for a moment, staring down at the lifeless bull, its massive form crumpled in the bloody snow. triumph pulsed within her, but the ache in her muscles reminded her of the cost.

turning to sun eater, her silver eyes softened, catching the scarlet grin that spread across his features. her heart swelled at the pride in his gaze, though she moved instinctively toward him, her focus shifting entirely to him and the marks left by the battle.

her nose brushed gently along his bloodstained shoulders, searching for any wounds that might need her care. her tongue swept over a deep scrape, the taste of iron sharp on her tongue, and she hummed softly under her breath, a soothing sound meant for him.

sun eater came first—always.

her voice was low when she finally spoke, steady despite her exhaustion. you are strong, she murmured, her breath warm against his fur as she continued to clean him. her movements were tender, deliberate, as though her care could erase the bruises and blood altogether.

once satisfied with her work, she rested her forehead briefly against his, drawing strength from the closeness, the bond they had forged in blood and snow. then, with a faint, tired smile, she whispered, we did well, my husband. but you—always, you lead us to victory.