Ouroboros Spine sons of salt and sea

aye, rhaegal rumbles upon a low chuckle.

her giggle is a heartlightening sound that fills the seadragon with a buoyancy he has not felt in a long time. yes, it was a bit of a shotgun wedding: a choice made on a night when spirits were high and cupids drunk on the blossoming hope of finding love.

but, it felt right.

his doewife was lovely and kind and soft where his edges tended to be rougher: from the harsh seas that had shaped him, physically, mentally. even taking form in his accent.

and you are my doewife. he could've just called her 'wife' but there was something about 'doewife' that had felt like it fit her the moment the term had entered his mind. from that point on, it'd stuck.

he leans closer, dipping his head to press his nose against her cheek with affection.