Blackfeather Woods and then one day you find ten years have got behind you

"Mou," she breathed, turning to him, seeking the warmth of his pelt in the dim light. Any guilt that might have been at his discovery of her indulgence was hidden away, buried in her stupor. The voices in her head were silenced; she had no use for anything but the physical, now. He was a solid presence beside her, and she stopped to press herself against him, anchored for now.

She caught his gaze toward the cache, and looked up at him, a sort of dance in her eyes. "Do you want some?" she whispered, almost teasingly. She slipped by him, a pale snake, padding toward the cache. She ought not to, she really shouldn't. . .

But who was she to deny his base desires?