Honeyed Pasture but i've never loved one before

already, wintersbane knows that he must once more take up the mantle of 'recruiter' if they hope to have standing and stability before the breeding season — already ticking closer like the hand of a clock wound too fast. try as he might not to think of it, the need for settling down and sowing the seeds of family beyond the bastards he's sired roots deep within him; hooks and barbs. while wintersbane isn't sure he can love another woman as he loved relmyna, as he loved andraste ...he can be a good husband and father, given the chance. the tattered and broken heart beating beneath stalwart sinew is a sorrowful sight and not worth offering anymore.

maybe being a good husband and father might be enough ...or if nothing else, then to be a father and be present. his desires are not so complicated; or so he thinks, at any rate.

there is a lingering serenity in the quietude that settles over the pasture, the crisp scent of decaying grasses and the musk of deer and elk a pleasant aroma. though the tundrian isn't particularly fond of the lack of camouflage for himself — for he stands out like a omen of death, surely; dark and tall and scarred — he does enjoy the peace he feels here, in this moment. the first time he's been at peace with himself for some time.

even the movement of a light pelaged wolf, does not break the spell the pasture has weaved 'round him. glacial gaze turns to her, however; studying but not probing; a low chuff of greeting offered, an unspoken invitation extended towards the stunning starlet in the distance but one she was welcome to discard should she decide to keep moving.