Honeyed Pasture inferno

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At Doe’s summons, Szymon emerged from Chateau Dozzle in a flurry of feathers; he’d been plucking a gyrfalcon to help add more lining to the birthing den.  A trail of them marked the beeline he made toward his mate, his brow furrowing with suspicion engendered by the female who flanked her.  Though it was clear Doe had given permission for the fiery-eyed yearling to enter the territory, her doting mate was a reserved creature at best.  The black-banded wolf moved toward his odd-eared love with a possessive air, nibbling warmly at her cheek with a low, undulating rumble, and he rose to his full height to meet the dark stranger with a quiet chuff of greeting.  “Hail,” he said simply, his bass timbre even and blessedly fluid.  His stern visage regarded her calmly, piercing golden eyes moving between Doe and Sjáseiðr with quiet curiosity.

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