Deepwood Weald ghabat hadia

her lower jaw falls slack, her tongue lolling out in playful abandon. of course jawahir had found pharaoh again. she tries to recall the man's scent, hoping she can one day track him down and have her way with him once more. for now, she relishes the memory of his touch, and softly envies her sister's conquest.

wolves are stubborn; you know this, anarkali says with some pique. our gifts are best suited to the mating season—but soon, it will come.

she stretches, yawning in unrestrained languor, enjoying the cut of sun through trees, dappled upon her back. lovely weather, she remarks, leaning into the heat. they are born and bred for this, and the north is warmer than any time she's known before.

perhaps their time truly has come.