Larksong Grotto You're sweet, my dear

mireille was not hungry.
he wanted to hunt, to provide; she wanted only to taste what he had given a sign of the first time they had met.
but the stranger on the glacier had left her weak, scratched by teeth, her throat and shoulders bruised with the rough seduction she had wanted, had invited, had demanded.
she should eat.
mireille stopped in her tracks, sending her voice in a purr toward this man, wanting to see if he would turn away from his hunt or doggedly remain with it.