Hideaway Strath [m] no shortage of sordid, no protest from me

@Vein some slight pp of domestic life lol (forward dated for 04/04/2021 - 04/06/2021) also

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: for eventual baby-makings

In the fortnight that had passed since she and Vein had spoken of what would happen when the halfling went into heat, she had begun preparing their den for the eventuality of raising children within. The floor was cool, hard-packed earth, sheltered from the elements. She'd since moved the pelts from her bed in the Chambers to their private dwelling, lining the earthen floor and padding it with the pile of furs and skins with painstaking care. 

A dark niche along the back was where she had taken to organizing Vein's assortment of rocks and bones neatly, arranging cairns for the dried herbs the bloodletter and the midwife alike had stashed for their work. The secluded home was set in the southern depths of the Strath, in an idyllic, mossy glen nearly halfway between the Fireflower Glen and Twilight Hollow. Already it had begun to feel like home, more so even than the sleeping place she'd taken up near Gaia's Altar only weeks ago. 

The milkmother could not be certain when her heat would strike but she knew it wasn't far off as her scope of focus shrunk -- restricting itself to the tiny haven that The Priestess and her pale consort had built for themselves. She had missed the birth of @Kynareth's sons (reference) and regretted that she could not be there to help @Simmik (reference) with her delivery. Already her scent had begun to change and she did not think it wise to come close to the birthing mother, nor did she desire to distract anyone with her pheromones -- however faint they might be at that moment. Vein had gone to tend to the monarch-eyed Mercenary and had returned with reports of a veritable crowd outside the whelping den to receive the news of the youngest Deagons to enter the world. Aerin surmised then that it may have been for the best, given that she might have been one packmate too many smothering the whelping mother. 

After a few more days, the medic's skin began to shrink too -- or so it felt -- and crawl along her bones as if it were too tight, too hot. Already the fur along her underbelly began to shed as if in response to the simmering beneath her flesh, pale clumps of the silky wisps tucked in amongst their bed furs as the dove preened them free diligently. She withdrew into the privacy of the den's darkness and did her best to entice Vein into staying with her as much as was possible with an overabundance of affection -- growing anxious whenever he felt the need to leave her side. At these times, the acolyte remained curled resolutely against the far wall of their home and waited fearfully for her mentor and mate to return. 

The day had not quite broken when the sighthound woke, becoming faintly aware of a new sensation humming through her veins before she had fully awoken. Lashes of snowfall peeled back from bleary moonstones as the swan blinked herself groggily into the present, head lifting from Vein's shoulder where she'd pillowed it the night before. The shaman still dozed, she noted in some absent corner of her mind as her brow furrowed -- not yet able to pinpoint what had caused her to rise before the sun or her husband did. 

As her mind cleared, the once-druid became aware of a fluttering in her lower abdomen muscles -- a clenching, cramping nestled in the high peak above her pelvis. It was not so intense or painful yet but the urge was there, every breath of Vein's rich and earthy scent drawing her in and making the world shrink to the blue-heather shadows around them even more tightly than before. 

The Saints didn't exist in that moment. Her once-love, only so recently buried, for Kynareth didn't exist. Aliroth didn't exist. All that existed was the curious, drunken warmth spilling through her veins as her breaths quickened, taking greedy lungfuls of the icebear's cologne. 

A soft murmuring sound escaped her throat as the Saluki pressed closer to the cleric, tremoring as she buried her muzzle in his plush ruff of ice. The usually shy wolfdog couldn't be bothered with the notion that she might disturb his rest. The instinct driving her slackened her inhibitions, giving her the confidence to lap at the brumal brute's ears and the sensitive spots of his neck -- trailing teasing nibbles along his nape as hushed whines spilled from her lips between her ministrations. Her plume of pale fluff wagged fiercely at her hindquarters, spreading the perfume of her heat scent further as it cloyed thickly in the damp spring air that crept into the stone walls of their abode -- promising to coat the world behind in a layer of  dew as the sun rose.