Duskfire Glacier [m]wen se solèy la

Tulimaq rarely catered to the attention of women. There was one time during the year when he could get what he desired from them, and for that window it was easier because it was mutual, but he rarely sought it out. She was interested — shy, and seeking some measure of control over her state perhaps, but interested. He felt it to be only a matter of time before they both gave in.

She pressed close and then pealed away at a run, slipping along the ice shelf as if she belonged there. Tulimaq rose to the challenge of keeping up with her: it was a fox hunt. He bayed a low sound as her figure blurred against the stone and ice, a hunting hound; and even with his limping gait (from a wound to his foreleg, since healed) he did not dawdle.

Her rufous red was a beacon; himself, an eager moth.