Wheeling Gull Isle she’s a 10 but…

heda gratefully took his paw, though the expression on her face froze at his thoroughly biological description. it mirrored her earlier thoughts on the frenzied selfishness she had seen other beasts engage.
if you had asked, heda was not a romantic. her lover was the island, the touch of sun and sand her only caress. but one day perhaps she thought bartholomew might have made more of his soft embraces than what they had been.
it was a surrender, a moment of complete vulnerability that heda felt sickened to even consider with someone she had not loved so deeply.
a sea breeze rose and traced her cheek with a wavering and invisible trailing of fingers which lifted her fur.
heda slowly pulled away from caracal, expression tightening with some sensation she could not have worded in that milisecond had she a larger vocabulary.
she didn't want babies put into her. she wanted a marriage before god and island where her children would be raised with the same psalms that bartholomew had taught to her. 
maybe in essence it was he she wanted.
heda cleared her throat, chancing a glance at caracal in case his features had fallen into dismay, unable to articulate exactly how his wording had made her feel. "i don't think i want to — do that. not for a long time." her voice shook, and again the leaping glissade that something was wrong, that she was the problem.