Emberwood I got years of livin' by and how I choose

✹☾❂

 

At the touch of his muzzle against hers, like a violinist’s bow against a polished instrument, she shuddered. Eleuthera couldn’t help it. Thank you, the woman thought as she exhaled the breath that had been locked inside her and pressed her finebone maw infinitesimally into his. She stayed there, feeling his corporeal presence so close and warm on already a warm summer night, not willing to be the first to pull away. 

She could smell the road on him, and in the half a second between that moment and the next, her imagination went on a thousand different simultaneous journeys. Eleuthera wondered how his brother had died. She wondered what his parents had been like. She thought about the sounds of his voice, and if he was born with his accent or if it was a melange of all the places he had been. The woman mused upon where he would sleep that night, and if he was going to be alone. Eleuthera was far too curious for her own good, and she forced down these millions of scenarios and allowed herself to experience the true peace in that moment. She hadn’t realized this, but she had been longing to touch him since the very moment he introduced himself. 

For once, she did not think about Séamus.

When invited, she collapsed into him like a songbird coming home to roost.