Swiftcurrent Creek ανύψωση

he was gentle, acquiescent, and nothing like rhaegar. even the scent of him was wrong, earthen and unrefined as the wilds she'd found him in. almost unclean, somehow, but rhaenyra knew that was unfair. he is a man, she thought, and he smells like one.
rhaegar was more than a man; beyond comparison. this commoner, this bartholomew — oh, he would serve for now. rhaenyra was a seahawk, and a proud woman besides, but this was not the starlit shores. their laws no longer ruled her. and rhaegar... he had bedded many common women in his time, rhaenyra knew. for a bastard half-brother to the alpha pair, it was not so grievous an offense. he would not blink at her dalliance; he'd never cared for their family's double standards. so rhaenyra would have her pet, for now.
long after the heat of the encounter had dwindled to dull warmth and the sunlight had dwindled to a moody blue moonscape, rhaenyra removed herself for a quick bath in the creek's shallows. she cleansed the scent of him from her fur briskly, contemplating his strange face. he was almost handsome, it was true, but not quite. when she looked on him expecting beauty, she found herself repulsed by his drooping ears and common fur; when she expected revulsion, instead her heart warmed to see the sad yet amiable set of his mouth, the narrow taper of his slender muzzle. he was slim and gentle, yet he spoke with the voice of a barbarian. a contradiction given flesh; it was no wonder he'd caught the eye of a seahawk.
she returned to him still preening the last of the moisture from her gleaming silver-gold chest fur. foxfire called out from the trees above, a series of long mournful sounds that carried over the land. the bird called for the sea every night they were away. in her heart, rhaenyra echoed the call silently. perhaps one day, they would return.