Ouroboros Spine [m] xxxxvi. from the perfect start

With calm, wordless patience the male had attended to his new bride, mindful and patient, doting on her with gifts and food, while maintaining his place at her side. Outwardly, he was not a physically affectionate wolf- and his presence spoke more than his actions. Faithful, he was with her every day, and every night that they shared his den together. He sought her out to enjoy her company, setting aside time to spend with her while still maintaining a somewhat respectful countenance. Being married was as new to him as it was to her- and while he did dote upon her, he had wanted to remain respectfully abstinent until nature called for them to be united.

And when that day came, it brought about with it a feeling of excitement and trepidation both, for the man who know only how to woo and comfort, but not consummate. He had willed for this day to come, but now when he tracked her down, knowing that he would have to set aside all other obligations to tend and guard her, he caught himself feeling nervous about whether or not he might meet her expectations. The basic mechanics he knew- but the rest they would have to discover together.

He thought he saw a wondering, fretting look upon her features when he finally tracked her down. He was relieved she was alone and that no other had dared to try and take what was rightfully his. He wouldn't leave her now, not for fear that she might come within harm's way. He wondered, though, given how she looked, if she knew what she was experiencing. He approached, and uttered a sound more guttural and longing than he had ever uttered before. "Lótë, my wife," He crooned, and reached to pull her toward him, so that he might bask in the sensation of finally getting to hold her as closely as he had wanted to.