In the night, she had gone but a few steps before a voice rumbled from the depths of the darkness. Strange, for though she heard it many a time through the day, there was a tone hardly received in these nights as of late. She could hear his fatigue, the wear of the day before, and yet he pulled himself from slumber to take notice. The fine hairs along her back rose in startled array, then smoothed when she found no trace of aggression in his deep, grumbled voice. There had been no intention to wake him, truly, yet a significant part of her was glad for it. If only because in her retreat he had took notice, even if it had taken some time for this to occur.
“Then winter’s grasp must be strong,” coyly she replied, raspy chords playing softly as she turned her gaze toward him. She tipped her muzzle back to spy the lying form in the darkness. The single molten orb aglow to mark that place of his eye amidst the shades of shadow and night. Unlike the tired beast, his autumn charge was very much awake, infused by the fragrance of her own scent and the tantalizing aroma of the coming spring buds. Even in the late hour. “You sleep so soundly,” turning from her escape crept toward him with muzzle low tail sweeping, the black flesh of her muzzle just within reach of his own; a hair’s breadth but not yet touching. “You have not noticed it for feel of the warmth on your face in the morning,” she whispered, fending off the hint of sadness in her voice. “Nor do you mind it when you trace the borders in the day.” Her ears drew back as she halted before him, then lowered down to her belly with forelegs outstretched to encompass either side of his head.
“Have you noticed anything more… than the cold of… what I thought was ours?” |