Duskfire Glacier [m] may stars align

perhaps asking her for clarification was cruel of him; given that he was fairly certain of what they both wanted in that moment. the pheromones her body was emitting drew him in like a sailor helpless to a sirens' song. that he offered delightful ( a word he chooses to substitute in there ) conversations was ...a bit surprising. it was true that he liked to talk — and probably liked to hear himself talk though there were moments while his throat was healing that he wasn't sure he would ever be able to speak again — which was so very different from the child and young man he'd been.

though it is hard to force his hazed mind — lulled into a fierce inferno of wanting — to focus upon their past conversation(s), he recalls it after some effort. of how he admitted he was a widower twice, of how her feelings for another had gone unrequited. of how his bad luck as a husband made him gunshy and stonecold. he preferred no strings attached except for those of the children.

he does not answer, though; content to consider. it is not until she pulls back, and his glacial gaze perceives the slick of her ears back to be anxiety that snaps his attention back to the herenow. tzila, he implores in a low, whisky steeped croon, paws ghosting nearer to her. i enjoy our conversations and your company as well. he admits in a rasping murmur. it is hard to find someone with ...shared life experience. maybe not entirely identical to him but similar enough that she surely understands, he thinks.