Swiftcurrent Creek made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

Her acceptance of potentially not having children certainly seemed thrown out the proverbial window in that moment as she snapped—storming past him—not stopping once she was fully outside. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, holding back his own biting remark—and stared after her as she all but left their little abode.

He meant what he said—like fuck he was letting her out of his sight in this condition—and so the dark Mayfair trailed behind, silver fur glinting in the sun as he kept a respectful distance from her—nares quivering at her scent—his own agitation upon the surface of his being.

He spoke nothing for the moment—contemplating, and allowing them both time to cool off from the spat.