Deepwood Weald the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees

[table width=85%][tr][td]

She is emotional and he does not blame her for it — for how can he? She is so near to giving birth and their life has been in constant upheaval since Dakarai and Olive came back bearing seeping wounds and words of treason. She hiccups words in her native tongue — words he does not understand and though he does not necessarily ignore them he cannot comment upon them and turns instead to what he does understand. She snaps at him for apologizing and the gangster’s ears flatten against the sharp plains of his skull crestfallen. Not because she has snapped at him (no he can handle that) but because there should be no cause of this in the first place. Yet, the gangster sticks by his guns. He is sorry, because he has played his role in this perilous play: by taking Olive and Dakarai back in, by allowing himself to be portrayed as a bleeding heart (when some days he questions if he has a heart), by making the decision to relocate his Family from Ravensblood where they are the target of a pack that he wants nothing to do with. “They will be punished. How I should have punished them the first time.” Now, there would be no retribution. Now, there would be no mercy. Arturo may have played his role, may have had his hand in the bad deal gone horribly south but he is not it’s antecedent. He is the simply the one left cleaning up the mess and what a fucking mess it was.

She lurches towards him — not the lunge she would no doubt be able to accomplish as she would unburdened by the weight of their children within her — but she comes forth nevertheless like a force of nature that he loves her for and latches onto his shoulder. Surprise coerces the growl, rumbling like thunder of a distant storm from his lips as they curl back to expose sharp, pearly white canines. The gesture may appear aggressive but she does not hurt him and he thinks he understands her pain. He is not angry. His reaction is just that — natural reflex to unforeseen stimuli. She does not break skin, does not maul him. He thinks she is just releasing her pent up aggravation and that he happens to be the closest thing in range. In many ways, this is better. “Don’t be. I ask much of you and I shouldn’t,” Ceannasach responds briskly to his wife’s apology, fiery gaze seeking her moonbeam gaze that is always soothing to him. “You are the strongest woman I have ever know Lotte.” He disagrees with her with a shake of his head, pressing forth with the attempt to brush his muzzle against her’s in a nuzzle, a gesture with undiluted affection.

[/td][/tr][/table]