Fox's Glade [m] porcelain

he looked at her, and the air between them suddenly seemed alive. not electric, no; this was warmer, softer, a rose-hued hum tinging the space around them. his eyes were green - no, hazel. his voice was as warm and quick and alive as the tension thrumming between them, smoky honey and citrus tones.

he spoke of a grave. a sister; her mate. sensing that he needed comfort, yakone stepped closer and pressed her nose to his cheek. she whined softly and kissed his chin, seeking to lift his spirits. death was tragic, but life always gave more reasons to celebrate than to mourn. there would always be new love, new happiness.