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

Feel free to powerplay Lotte scampering away after he answers! She will want to be caught. ♥

The smoke-and-shadow songbird was still highly sensitized to Arturo’s touch, and the chaste nibble to the curve of her ear ignited a current of heat that danced down her spine and curled restlessly in her gut. It didn’t help that his smoky timbre, richly accented and devastatingly devilish, was even more attractive to Lotte now that she’d heard him gasp her name in the throes of their shared passion. She shuddered once at the memory, turning to nip warmly at the juncture of his throat and shoulder, and accused him playfully, “You are doing it again, rakas!” Gathering her long, supple limbs beneath her, she rose to her paws and snaked her body hard against his like an overexuberant feline, greedily taking pleasure from his nearness.

Oh! He is too much — dangerous, dangerous man.

“Play with me,” she begged abruptly in a throaty murmur, desperately needing an outlet for the spice of arousal that had already begun to drum headily through her veins. “Kaapata ja Kysyä — in your tongue, Catch and Ask.” It was a game she’d just now made up, but she liked the alliteration and decided on the spot that if anyone asked, she’d simply pretend it was a traditional game from the Enok Tundra.

“I chase you and catch you,” she said, laying out the ground rules, “and then I ask a question.” A wicked glint sparkled in her moonbright eyes as she saucily flicked her coal-colored tail at her suitor, preening her ashen ruff with the air of a femme fatale fastidiously checking her nail polish. She glanced at him over her shoulder, teasing, “Then you try to catch me, and if you do, you ask.” Inspired, she stretched her limbs, shaking out her fur with a sunny smile. “Information for information, Turo — I am very Teaghlaigh, yes?” Without waiting for his answer, the soot-stockinged rogue paced forward like a stalking cat, butting her muzzle lovingly against the underside of his and stretching forward in a continuation of that motion to rub her cheek against his. When her lips were close enough that her very breath ruffled the fur of his ear, “Caught you,” she said. “Now, Ceannasach, tell me this — where would a man like Arturo Fearghal be found if a nightingale were to go looking?” He knew to find her in the weald, but she wondered whether he had any secret haunts inside or outside Teaghlaigh.