Northstar Vale i miss you in the dawn & most of all, your fingerprints, everywhere (mtr.)

foreign, the words she spoke. perhaps to another man they would have been more easily translated. but mahler refused to think of the sablefurred creature that matched aurëwen in her scarred visage. for now there existed only the nature of his torments, and the balming touch of her that drove them away for the present. she was ethereal beneath him, balancing against the hungering whet of his desire, and mahler realized with a sudden and daunting awareness that he wanted to bar her not.
perhaps what he loathed most in aurëwen was her sense of freedom; she was unburdened by obligation, even to her children, and that was the vision in which he saw reflected his own rampant thirst for sanity. the dove was singularly opposite him; where he found enchantment in rote organization and ritual, aurëwen found her heart in the wreathing of the trees, the air, the scent of the loam crushed underfoot.
all wildflower and moon-chased silver; he pressed his muzzle against the back of her neck, moving forward to further encase her in his embrace, to perhaps pursue that freedom he felt limning every line of her enlivened and yielding body. the side of her cheek, the base of her spine, the curve of her hip; mahler explored with a trembling touch, lids at half-mast.
until at last he grasped her in the heat of it, a groan vibrating in his throat on the end of a croon as he found himself within the clasp of some angelic warmth that drove the sighs from him and finally mahler allowed himself to be consumed.