Swiftcurrent Creek compa

he and eshe are a thing. this was a source of news to silvertongue, who took in stride that the darkfurred man would of course explore more than one connection. did she not do the same? why then was her belly singed to hear it, in the same way that she had been to think wren too had caught his golden eyes? what was akavir, truly, to her? for now the sharpfang put him from her mind; she felt herself welling with some inexplicable sorrow, that wren could not see in herself what silvertongue saw each day. the irony was that she had been taught by women to say such things to men, but had found only the natural curve of her words. it had been wren who had done this, after all, sounded the gentle click of a padlock and pushed a protesting door inward. "i have not done this either, wren," and it was true, truer upon the sigh in her throat; "so we will do it together." now her lips did tremble, and she reached up to kiss the junction of neck to shoulder, sighing there with something that wished very much to be — love. and not that which she held for crowfeather, which barred even akavir from its sanctum. something else. something which titillated and frightened the untouched and most tormented portions of silvertongue. "you do not know what you do for me," was all she could offer in the end, snapped back upon the lead of a language limited in its ability to say so very much.