Ravensblood Forest you found me and i found you

Ever since Olive and Dakarai had returned to Teaghlaigh, Lotte had grappled with a strange weight comprised of jealousy, frustration, and guilt. “I stood shoulder to shoulder with you as you claimed this forest,” the pallid mother had said — and where had Lotte been, month after long month? Languishing in a forest without contributing anything of value to the noitakuningatar and her ilk, waiting for Arturo to come to her.

And now Donnelaith was ash and the witch queen — just a child, younger than Lotte! — was gone.

The singed songbird had never really taken the time to mourn the loss of her first home in the Teekons or the wolves who’d inhabited it. So much of Lotte was focused on the present — on survival — and this weird emotional weakness, this dwelling on things that she had no control over, was new and irritating. She was irrationally upset that Arturo hadn’t told her about Olive’s pregnancy, for his phrasing had hinted at a previous conversation: “I see you two have made your decision, and you should know that mine has not changed.” She was irrationally angry that Ceannasach’s children would not be the first to walk through Teaghlaigh’s ruddy halls, and for that she blamed herself and her own physical immaturity. She was downright petulant that Arturo’s first foray into fatherhood since his first children were born was corrupted and made brittle by pack politics. On top of all the inanity, though, Lotte was deeply worried about the consequences of what had transpired between her Family and the Blackfeather wolves — this, at least, was rational.

All of this had dropped from her mind at the sight of her espresso-and-cream love, but its resurgence was slow and inexorable. She pushed it forcibly from her mind at the look of contentment on his black-masked face, realizing he needed the respite as badly as she did, and set about offering what comfort she could. Circling him slowly, she covered him in kisses, her tongue and teeth gently preening at the fur along his sides and spine; she mouthed lovingly at his nape, resting her chin across his lean shoulders before completing the circuit, turning to face him. She wanted to cuddle, to tuck herself beneath his chin — Lotte was a large, fluffy wolf, but she could fold herself remarkably and make herself smaller when she wished — but more than that, she wanted to look at him. She sprawled onto the ground, rolling onto her back to brace her forepaws on the sharp angles of his elbows, and looked up at him with moonbright eyes. They shone like mirrors, reflecting Arturo in miniature form back at him, and crinkled at the corners as she smiled.