Stone Circle Not the first not the last

Growing old is an unpreventable part of existence. But Tauris refuses to accept it. She overlooks his pelt that surrenders to gray and the gait that has not known steadiness this year. The slump of his shoulders as she draws up behind him is the fatigue of fatherhood, and not old age.

She teases his shoulder with a little nip. She disturbs his peace. She wants his play. She fears the alternative, in which Gunnar was too pained to give chase, too old not to feel the creep of imminent grief.

“Do you want two more children? I’m looking to offload mine,” her smile flickers, but her eyes are wide and staving the gloss of a tear.