Blackfeather Woods and when she looked, what could i ail?

he spoke, he spoke, and it was her name that came from him, her title in his throat; her small body tensed at the sound of it, for she recognized not the sensation that gripped her now. something preternatural, soothing; a feeling of comfort, of warmth, and perhaps it was love. relmyna did not know, for her love thus far had been reserved and removed to one of maternal affection, for cicero's five children, never for herself.
it was only clear now that she craved the winterwolf in a way she had not with sheogorath, and without the oilsick feeling that accompanied her raw interludes with iliksis. no, no, no, this was
good, a pleasant thing, and relmyna did not feel she deserved it. but her heart lashed into a faster cadence all the same, and she drew back to regard him directly, testing the balance of his eyes with her level gaze. did he want also the wordless desire that had come to bear in her own secret heart?