Moonspear I'm gettin' tired and I need somewhere to begin

She looked up to him—and he found herself softening at her words, a rumble of pleasure shifting to a snort of laughter. “If this is prison, what things can I do to make sure I stay here more permanently?”

His tone was teasing—the croon an invitation to any naughty suggestion she might have. He held so many questions for her—so many things to learn of her, to share with her—and yet it still felt their time was limited, despite the frequency of his visits to her ulaq.

Soon, she would take another here, and he would have to pretend it didn’t rankle him or spark jealousy.

And likely, knowing how insightful she was, she would somehow know. Just as she knew the restlessness of his spirit.

“You could come with me,” he noted, pleased at the idea though knowing it unlikely—but they could make the visit swift.