Duskfire Glacier cut open my sternum and pull my little ribs around you

wintersbane recognizes the scent that wafts off zephyr in a way that he wished he didn't; muscles pulling taunt beneath his feverkissed coat as his body instinctively reacts to the pheromones upon the air. rationality finds him — briefly — and fills him with the worry of betrayal. he wanted children, yes; a legacy but where does he draw the line? where does he stretch it too thin and become careless? why was there a slight fear; a flash of ice, that he was betraying?

betrayal could only be done if he was married and as he made his stance on it clear over and over again there was no one he was betraying.

yet, it lingers like a nagging buzz in the back of his mind all the same.

yet, as zephyr's throaty whine shatters the quiet trickle of meltwater, the soft creak of ice as it began to splinter apart, the tundrian tucks it away. knowing that he was never one to resist the sirensong of estrus.

wintersbane returns with a low rumble; given to lust like it is his patron deity and he the apostle chosen. he drifts nearer, silently seeking permission with each ghosting step forward.