Swiftcurrent Creek all of my holy

I posted this from my phone so I'm really sorry


A cat had come to them, less sibilant and torturous than Lynx, but destructive nevertheless. Stubborn to the bitter end, Lester refused to move his den from the outskirts of Fox's territory, but he had found his way in among her wolves, to proffer his services as healer if need be.

His daughter had been scarce as of late, and he felt a guilty pang stab him as he admitted inwardly that her absence made it less difficult to question the paternity of her growing unborn.

He caught the trail of Fox's scent and frowned; there was blood laced through her commanding fragrance. Lengthening his stride, the pale shaman soon beheld her with his eyes; he drew nearer to assess her with a practiced stare.

He did not like the woman past a basic, grudging respect for her assumption of the Creek after Lethe's suicide, though he would have preferred Jinx in her place. His feelings toward her notwithstanding, Lecter did not wish for her to die from infection.

"Your wounds will fester and sap your strength if they are not tended," he muttered to her, knowing that she cared little for him also. "My den is not far from here; let me tend you. Or, if you would prefer, wait and I shall bring you the medicine. "

His inner cataloging of what he needed was broken by a sliding glance; Jinx stood nearby, and he was pained that he had not noticed her. But she had not allowed him close, she had spurned him, and worry mounted again in his breast for her.

The space between them did not allow for the shaman to smell the bitter end of her pregnancy, but the vibrant eyes had dulled and his ears swept back for a moment, icewater eyes watching her silently. For the moment, Fox was forgotten in Lecter's overwhelming desire to step toward Jinx, to embrace her and remove the thorn of her pain.