The Floodlands like a dog with a bird at your door

"maybe," he growled, enticed, intoxicated enough to blabber anything she wanted. he was a fool, but not such a fool that he didn't understand how it all worked. they'd stay together and when it ended, he would be on his way and he on hers, not a backwards look.
for now briggs nipped at her hip and sauntered away, in the direction of the copse which danced with sunlight.
would take them a fair piece to get there, though once they had, colt would waste no time in pulling wren close once more, sighing into her fur with delectation.
fitting place, he felt, waiting for her to signal progression or for them to hold off.