Gyrfalcon's Keep Woodsmoke and oranges

i remember, rusalka speaks; clipped. well. fondly, even.

though a man of mercurial emotions, he takes a while to process the assurance in which she replies that they were his.

you could've had more partners than just me, silence breaks with his words: a simple observation. we are not avowed to one another, is why i asked. in this, at least, he understands the assignment.

cubs.

his —

it hadn't necessarily been on his to-do list when he set out from warsaw islands ... but it had wiggled it's way into his priorities in the here and now.

there is a soft swell of ... something, as he looks upon her again. yet unplaceable.

am i to be known as father to them? he inquires; softly, trying to determine what her expectations might be and if he was to have a place in their lives beyond 'packmate'.