Qeya River [m] horn lance

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a cold plan spread within his mind, and that the chieftain hunted a caribou heart for his mate, and brought it back to where @Star Eater had made her den. it was hers, as much as she wanted to make it their own. he was not a man for dens and delighted in the idea of leaving behind the river again, perhaps even some slight pleasure in the idea of breaking their attachment to this frozen water.

not only the heart, but a hide, which he dumped into the snow and left to puddle blood. "you will scrape its side," sun eater murmured when he had set the viscera down in a better place, gently enough but in no way veiling that it was an order.

he looked for respite then; hides, pelts. "i am hungry," he said as he lay down, another expectation. she would not scurry like red leaf, and sun eater did not expect it. but he did have the entitlement to be pleased.

his eyes watched her.

!!

star eater's ears flicked at his approach, her tail sweeping lazily over the snow as she watched him with quiet amusement. always a provider, her sun eater. the pelt, dark and streaked with drying blood, was familiar in scent and purpose. she nodded, absorbing his order without question.
i will, she agreed, tilting her head. i will anoint it with oils—vetiver needles, caribou musk. it will be a gift for you. a thoughtful promise, one fitting of a chieftain's mate.
her gaze lingered on him then, taking in the way he settled himself. the hunger in his voice was layered, but she had long since learned the ways in which to read him.
her own hunger flickered in return.
with a slow roll, she shifted onto her back, the curve of her belly exposed, pink with the signs of the life they had made together. it was a rare show of softness, of something more delicate than the hardened woman she often was.
her eyes gleamed as they found his.
you want me still when i am fat? she teased, voice edged with something light, something knowing. a challenge, but one meant only for him.

it was not the way of a lanzadoii man to lay with his wife at such a time in their lives. old wise women cautioned against these things, fearing injury to mother or child, or worse, the arrival of early labor. men were frightened early by these things, by stories of evil spirits entering an open womb to twist the children within, and sun eater was not immune to the socialization of those boyhood fears.

still, he was also very much a man, and with a man's unaddressed hungers. he descended upon star eater, pillaring her body between his four legs, and his breath was warm upon the curve of her belly.

desire warred with cold. "i want to know something." he teased her skin with a tongued kiss, finding her eyes thereafter. "there is a new feeling in saatsine, and it begins with blackfell. who is he? and the others. star eater." he smiled down into her rapturous eyes; "i killed to take this river. i will kill any who does not follow me. follow lanzadoii. who thinks against me."

he did not know the word for 'plot,' but that day of education with gjalla had entered a new suspicion into sun eater: that all one worked for could be stolen.

she would shiver at the touch of his cool nose against the taut, sensitive skin of her belly. his arms, muscled and ravenesque encapsulating her with his warmth. no matter how much he tried to shield his heart, his own desires from the saatsine wolves, she'd seek to carve through them with a caribou's hoof.
and he kissed her tenderly, an action so displaced from a man like him, but that's just it, wasn't it? she had reigned desire for the complexities, the nuances, and she found such a living, immovable force in the leader of the caribou hunters.
and their moment of serendipity felt pulled away like a hide beneath her feet. she looked to him, as he did her, ghostly white eyes searching the deepest depths of his own. a brow furrowed in confusion— blackfell is a man from a place like this, she explained. who bore the ways of man. he was not like me, what i once was. she chose to keep the details short, for his own shrinking fuse, afraid that he would pull away at any moment and leave her there wanting more, more.
your strength does not scare me, a paw outstretched to rake through the tough furs against his cheek, his neck. a tender motion from a wife that he deserved. i do not know the others— ishmira, veksar, other shore. a tendril of a lie shriveling at veksar, but that was one she chose to ignore. she chose to ignore him.
but i will stand beside you, husband, she reassures him the best way that she can think of— a kiss to his muzzle, eyes fluttering with the indignation of truth. had the blackmarch boys been scheming? thinking of taking down the chieftain? she could not stand for it. not when she chose this, chose sun eater, choosing their children that bellowed below them. you sent the order for my brother's head, and i did not stop you. had she been nothing more than the loyalest wife? she swallowed. and if they think against you, they will meet the spirits in their death. she did not tremble, except for the lightning streaks of pleasure of his close proximity.

"men who have tasted power are forever dangerous," sun eater murmured. she committed to him! she lay before him soft and yielding, whisper upon her lips, his progeny in her belly. how could he doubt? how could he ever doubt?

but still he remembered how red leaf had been when they had come to moontide.

he was foolish to have said such a name? suppose star eater repeated it — no. no. he must trust. he would trust, and gathered all his strength to open once more to the woman who had given much of her own to become his.

the remaining eye rose hot with his want, his need to connect them and thereby be soothed; he cooled the heat of his own veins by lying down placidly beside star eater, muzzle preening her shoulder as his body curled around her own.

"i have his head. you are right."

trust. trust. mercy. 

were not these things weakening?

a woman. a nameless woman; yes. it was what he needed. something to dull the whetted edge of all his knifed emotions. but she would not care for that. she was not lanzadoii, and even lanzadoii women shouted at their men about such things. yet their band remained their own, between he and she; no others might inherit a moiety than the children of his wife.

he would not stress her in such ways, despite the selfish urge. sun eater drew them close, sighing soft as he closed his eyes for a rare moment of complete respite.

her breath hitched at his touch, his warmth enveloping her like the furs they would one day share with their children. the heat of his body was a balm to her tension, her nerves. her tail shifted, curling around his hind limb, fingers grazing lightly over his chest as she whispered—soft, eager.
will you touch me?
it was not a demand, nor a plea, but a bridge—a gentle offering of herself. she was his, but she wished to feel it now. to ground them both in the comfort of their union.
but she would not let softness overtake her entirely.
she had seen the wariness in his eye, the lingering shadows of his thoughts. she knew that men like sun eater—men who bore the weight of power—never truly rested. and she would not be idle. she was his wife, yes, but she was more. she had been raised to be more.
what would you have me do, chieftain?her voice lowered, steady. i can be your eyes, your ears. if there are threats, i will see them before they come. if you need a spy, a whisper in the dark... i want to be useful to you.
her gaze searched his, the barest shimmer of longing there. not for praise, nor glory—but to stand beside him, to strengthen his claim, their claim.
tell me how to serve you.

his body tensed at her question, and so he did not answer so quickly. "serve me by keeping safe," he murmured at last, tender despite himself. their land was wild, the wolves moreso. anything she offered had the threat of jeopardizing herself and the little ones.

he did not want to admit his need, nor his want.

he continued to gently smooth her fur for a gravid pause. "it is not safe for us to share the furs," sun eater said at last. "you are vulnerable in many ways, my wife." and he must find a way to safeguard her through them all.

not safe. he hoped she would not press it — any of it.

"you serve saatsine also in this way," lying his head now down against her nape as he fought his anxieties and his desire to stave them off for a time in her embrace.

she sighed softly, eyes fluttering closed beneath the gentle weight of his head. she had expected his answer, and yet hearing it aloud still made her chest tighten, an ache that had nestled there for weeks now.
it must be difficult for you, she murmured, voice low, laced with understanding. not being able to touch me.
it was difficult for her too—festered like a wound she could not cleanse. know that i struggle the same. but she would not fight him. she would not push. he was her husband, and she trusted him.
her tail brushed against his leg, a small gesture of comfort, of affection.
i will stay here, she breathed. will you stay for just one night?
but still, the want lingered beneath her ribs—she did not say it, but he would feel it in the way her body softened beneath him, yielding, trusting. even in their restraint, she was his.

it would be well, if gentleness was what sun eater managed? he thought upon it, but the taboos upon lanzadoii men were great, too great for him to surmount.

he had thought of bringing the next captive to star eater, for her assistance and his own designs. he did not want his wife to feel her status threatened; the lanzadoii rarely took more than one mate at a time. they were not fish eaters after all.

"i will stay." beneath this roof, hidden from the sky and the caribou; he would stay because it pleased star eater, and dragged his teeth through her hackles with diligent affection.

he fell into studious silence, then said; "i know what throne is now. if more brothers come, more sisters, you will tell me?" this time he did not command, and waited.

she sighed, low and warm, pressing herself closer to him until her spine met his chest. she pulled his foreleg over her, tucking herself beneath it as though he might shield her from the world beyond their den.
i will tell you, she murmured, voice soft, but there was a crack in it—thin, fragile. but there is no one to come, my husband. all my family is dead.
there was no grief in her tone, not anymore. it had dulled with time, worn into something more like acceptance. but the emptiness of it lingered still.
her muzzle sought the curve of his neck, breathing him in, grounding herself in his presence. he was all she had now. him, and the lives they would bring into this world together.
you are my family, she whispered. you, and our children.

"and you are mine," though with a pang he thought of ghelan. would his boy feel replaced by these children? not in the heart of his father, and he had explained the moiety.

he slipped his hard arms around her, tried to become less and more; less of himself and more of what she needed. for all his refusal, sun eater had become vulnerable, and what was more, he welcomed it.

every man needed a singular space where he might exist in himself and his emotions. he did not want to say it aloud, but star eater offered this plainly and with love.

sorrow and contentment warred inside the chieftain until his throat was made to ache.

her breath hitched softly at his words, at the strength of his embrace, at the vulnerability he allowed her to see. sun eater—the hunter, the chieftain, the man—had always been a pillar of stone, but here, beneath furs and shadowed by their shared warmth, he softened for her. only for her.
star eater pressed closer into him, her muzzle tucking into the curve of his neck. she breathed him in—the scent of pine, blood, caribou musk—his scent, her home.
her eyes closed briefly, savoring the moment. in this life, and the next. wherever you lead, i will follow.
she shifted, her belly—heavy with their future—brushing against his side. her heart swelled, though the ache of loss still lingered, woven into the very fabric of who she was. but here, wrapped in his arms, she found a fleeting sense of peace.
our children will know you, she murmured. know what it means to be saatsine. to be strong. to love. her voice cracked slightly, but she did not shy away from it.
she tilted her head up to meet his gaze, eyes glinting like distant stars. and i will be here—always—your wife, your shield, your hearth.

WEEPS; fade in your next or this?

<33!!

he wanted to believe her, every sinew in his heart strained for such meaning. he had seen love, and once, he had experienced it. that memory sustained this darkheart once known as cen through every season.

he needed it again.

why did he not trust the softness of her eyes, the kiss of her mouth? she who had given all to be here with him and round with their children — did she not deserve the devotion of his heart? had she not earned it?

he whispered to her in lanzadoii as he settled close, drawing her against the strength of his chest, the pulse galloping at her nearness. and though sun eater would not break his own edict, he breathed her good scent and felt himself relax anew.

star eater was good for him, a salve for a pierced soul. he would accept this, allow her to be close.

sleep did not come easily all the same.