Moonspear summer sunday nights

And then he wasn’t alone!

His wife's voice was like a lark to his ears – a bright song among the quiet woods. Njord smiled warmly and slowed the cadence of his footfalls to let Meerkat catch up into place. The man cherished her kiss and pecked his own upon the blunt end of her snout.

“If it isn’t m’lady, Missus Sveijarn-Corten,” he crooned. If he had hands, Njord would have clasped hers and intertwined their fingers together as they strolled. “Why has my bonnie lass traveled so near the borders? Tis dangerous for a lady, ye ken?” The jest of Njord’s mock chauvinism was evident by the flirtatious way he whispered the words.