Firefly Ravine Americana

She wrapped him steadily, easily around her proverbial finger. Merlin was more difficult, evidently immune to her wiles. She watched him with a softer gaze and licked her lips lightly without noticing. Valmúa looked as though she was hunting something small and cute, something that would taste excellent once she managed to get her jaws around its fine little neck.
Njord and his adorable little red tail curled. She wanted to play him like a card from an excellent hand, but more than that she enjoyed every bit of him, right down to the scent of his youth, born from the sea. The two of them intrigued her, and she silently wished they might follow her into forbidden oblivion; the thought made her feel heat, and she opened her mouth to breathe for a moment and cool the fire within.
It is a date, gæludýrið mitt, she answered smoothly, her tongue sweeping over the words as though it was a fine wine she wanted to last forever. The fire woman turned then toward the mountain, as though to leave. Her tail swept intentionally to expose the fur of her hindquarters, and perhaps a touch more. Turning her head, she glanced almost dangerously at the both of them. You may join him, Merlin, she added, though it seemed clear from the boy's expression that his eistu might have forever receded.