Blackfeather Woods It was real and I repent

She's a rabbit-hearted thing, spaniel-eyed and dewy, but only in this moment.  Perhaps, perhaps.  The cold leather of his nose sends a shiver through her.

I'm not cold, she challenges, but I don't want you to leave.  She moves, lingering close to the sturdy cup of his ear so he could feel her breath upon every exhale, then boldly makes to preen the unkempt fur along his jawline, to spin kisses down his neck.  She could taste danger and pomagranates, she could taste her bloodied heart in her throat.

It tried to warn her again: he is using you,
But she didn't care.  Maybe if she let him use her, he wouldn't forget her.  Maybe when she died here, someone would grieve.