Horizon Ridge Out where the lightning splits the sea

If she'd known Kisu was still dwelling on her behavior earlier in the evening, long after she'd assumed the storm had passed, Pied may not have lay quite so contentedly in her mate's arms. Even as the lives of their children bloomed deep inside her, Kisu likened her to an unruly whelp in his mind, rather than as a young, imperfect woman who'd been caught up in nature's most alluring call. She knew she'd behaved inappropriately but it would've made her feel horrible to know her husband was even silently debating whether he could ever forgive her for her youthful blunders.

But she knew absolutely nothing of her mate's patronizing inner monologue, nor the fact that their offspring had been conceived not only in anger but in derision; nor did she suspect any of it. And ignorance was bliss. Content as a milk-drunk kitten curled in a patch of sunshine, she enjoyed the sensation of their quiet heartbeats. Pied even fancied they synced and their rhythm, just like the quiet rush of rain, lulled her. Certain that everything was well between them—she'd taken responsibility for her faults and apologized, after all, then they'd made love!—she murmured a final, heartfelt, "I love you, Kisu," and fell into a perfectly happy sleep.