Whitebark Stream I put off saying I love you, oh, oh

i swear everytime i look at the weather widget it's snowing in the teekons, lmao.

though salvatore was all for the aesthetic view of snowfall; the blanketing of fresh snow layering upon ground and tree limbs turning the world into a crisp winter wonderland there was a strong part of him that craved a nice, hot summer day. one of this hazy, lazy days; spent lounging around enjoying the song of the cicadas and the symphony of songbirds. he assumes, as he moves along the curve of the stream's banks that it's this conjured image of his ideal summer day — missed a lot in the wake of snow crunching under foot — that creates a tidal swell of longing within him.

mind's eye mirage cracks and shatters as he is slammed back into reality. salvatore isn't sure what it was specifically. it could've been that his paw slipped upon loamy bank and the ice cold water of the stream jolted him awake; a definite possibility. it could be the fact that while he was daydream he'd been subconsciously and instinctively following kaori's scent trail; lured by her intoxicating scent that tells every fiber of his being ( too aware ) that she's in the throes of her season as helpless against it as a sailor to a siren's song.

stronger now that he sees her up ahead; there's an intrusive and persistent ache in his loins. fuck. he thinks now as he did during first glimpse, solidified upon their first meeting: that she's effortlessly pretty. even so, they've only had one real conversation with one another and he thinks that he didn't have a right to ache so goddamn bad for her. the instinct is as old as time, however; and his body doesn't seem to care about whatever feeble argument as to why social conventions were more important than sexual desire salvatore could pathetically come up with.

driven by those archaic and primal instincts nonetheless, salvatore lets out a chuff in the hopes of grabbing her attention.