Phoenix Maplewood true like ice, true like fire

sounds perfect to me!

He was swift, as she had suspected he would be. Sunday Morning felt pride. For him, and for the way they had worked well together. This she had also suspected, but it was better to know it. Sunday Morning released the leg now, licking her chops as her plume matched the movements of his own. His head was still low, and as he rose he brought with it their kills blood. Sunday Morning rumbled happily as again he bestowed his affection upon her, doing nothing to remove the mark he left.

She returned the gesture in kind, though her own mark was a little less bloody. Remnants, traces, of the blood that had come when she had released the leg were there.

Sunday understood him well. Their language was a shared one. But she would not let him go without, and as she grabbed its hind she reared its head in an invitation for him to eat, too, if he wished. What was her own would ever be his, now. Then, she moved to lick away the furs before digging in.