Luneshale Pass [aaf] the weight of history

Here. Now. A bid by hungry blood that for long weeks apart had ached for her, and now to be stoked with a first, fleeting touch… He could feel the fever in her arms and also in the way in which she spoke. She was so alive, every part of her an inverse of the inching mundanity towards death. It was the power of the Goddess, but also that of a woman named Toula.

“Tomorrow night,” his whisper grazed her cheek and he pivoted. She is turned away and he chases her back. “A whistle outside your chamber,” he laughed at the absurdity and spun her. “Come away with me, Toula. Alone.” Her name on his tongue, unescorted by titles was forbidden and heated; intimate.

The song ended. The partners came to stop. There were cheers rooting up from the crowd. He faced her in prophetic silence. Then with all grace and apt benevolence, he kissed lightly the tip of her pale paw, bowing deep.