Hoshor Plains turquoise

out here, it was far different; chickadee felt the pulse of the earth through the soles of her paws; her inhale was him, bisonmusk and blood and the long golden grasses blended with the memory of their den.
she realized she did not think of moonglow as home. it was only where she lived.
but chickadee had no time to spare for anything that was not the sheen of his eyes nor the way she looked at him, nor the way that she had begun to realize that her presence made him smoulder in return.
her name was husky in his throat; she backed away from him in slow deliberate steps, letting the noise fall away. 
nature had not yet made it a true-time. what sang in her blood was devotion, and pride; the want to show him these things at once.