Stavanger Bay Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy

In all honesty, Doe did not expect her words to be answered. True to her expectations, Szymon did not repeat the vows back to her. That was fine; it was not a part of his culture, and Doe would rather not wait for him while he attempted to force it all out. He rarely stuttered around her anymore, but there were so very many words to the Vows, and they did not belong to Szymon; he did not know them.

So she was pleased enough with his silence, and giddier still at his heady promise to wear her down, make her see. He would get her, he said, and Doe didn't doubt him. That was the desired conclusion of this little game, but she would play it a while longer before allowing things to procede.

Darting and feinting, she deftly evaded his playful lunges and snapping teeth. Sometimes, she would allow him near enough to touch, but always slipped away with demure chuffs and chides. The game excited her, as did the strange mood that Szymon seemed to be in. Doe wasn't entirely oblivous, and understood that a fair part of it was due to the influence of her own hormones, but she saw enough of Szymon in it to see how much he'd grown from the anxious wolf she'd met on the shore.

It was a heady mixture; Doe's evasions did not last her long. Very soon, she was a shivering, cooing mess; availible for Szymon to do whatever he liked with.

And then they banged.