Deepwood Weald you waiting at ho[m]e for me saying what time do you call this?

Tagging for reference. ♥

The Ceannasach readily responded to Lotte’s affectionate overtures in kind, and she basked in the knowledge that he had missed her — it was something she suspected given how ardently he’d sought her, but hearing the words spoken so staunchly in his deep, alluring timbre satisfied an insecurity she didn’t realize she possessed. News of Chusi’s progress buoyed Lotte’s spirit all the more, and as joy and vivacity renewed themselves in the marrow of her bones, she recognized a stirring restlessness in her heart that seemed to quiet only when she was free of the sequoias. It was on the tip of her tongue — “I want to come home with you,” — but she kept quiet, freeing her voice on a warm, rippling chuckle as Arturo confessed that Chusi had reached the rebellious stage. Privately she believed that the ocher-eyed warrior princess would have been a handful for any wolf, and that it had little to do with the Fearghal’s parenting skills — but she held her odd silence, feeling that there was something lurking beneath the surface of this meeting that she needed to recognize in full before she spoke.

It was there in the fiery intensity of his gaze — in the strange heat that seemed to simmer and arouse her plush fur into a blanket of prickles — in the deep, primal satisfaction she felt as she watched this strong, intelligent, kind wolf tremble at her touch. Lotte did not quail beneath the coywolf’s citrine gaze, instead meeting his eyes with a piercing intensity of her own as she groped wildly for understanding. Her ears tipped forward upon her skull at the sound of his name, but still she did not speak — she stood, quietly receptive, her eyes watchful and warm.

“I want to court you.”

Kitku would have smirked and offered challenge, claiming he had to catch her to keep her; Kaniini would have quailed and curled upon the earth, claiming she was unworthy of such an honor; Solene would have cast a solemn glance at the man and flatly expressed that she was married to her work — but Lotte Ansbjørn, both composed of these roles and wholly separate from them, responded with equal clarity and conciseness: “I want you to court me.” It was a clumsy response, particularly from a wolf known for her eloquence in multiple languages, but it was as honest a rejoinder as she could make. “No one else,” she tacked on, already beginning to make her demands. Though hers was a playful spirit, she was anything but coquettish now. “And I want to come home with you,” she added, giving voice to her earlier thought, but her ears fell back against her skull as she murmured, “but I pledged myself to Donnelaith — I must support the noitakuningatar through the winter.” Too, there was Dagfinn to think about. “I have a twin — @Dagfinn,” she said, unsure whether she had mentioned her winter-eyed littermate already. “He is the other half of my soul,” she uttered with feeling, “and he will always be.” Her argent eyes were earnest as they sought Arturo’s. It was best he be informed now of her kaksonen, for who knew what would happen if the black-masked Fearghal saw the two of them locked in their usual tangle of limbs as they fussily pecked and groomed at one another.

In a heated whisper, she confessed: “I have seen no other wolf clearly since seeing you, Arturo.”