Arrow Lake [m] cool about it

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whatever awareness silvertongue felt wren should have, her wife did not. perhaps it had dimmed beneath the urgency of the season. to her knowledge wren had not felt the near desperate compulsion toward akavir shared by the sharpfang; it was only this that formed a sort of aversion for her toward the man. she was paranoid, somehow, that he would tell akavir. that — no. silvertongue forced herself to consider only his handsome lines and the compelling sound grating low in his throat, and when wren included the boy in her final regard, silvertongue finally pushed away the last of her misgivings. "you have not been with a woman before, have you, chamaco?" she purred, touching her tonguetip to one of the younger's earlobes; "suppose i teach you, ready you for my wife," and now she looked to the other lady aquilanera for assurance, a mischievous bloom on her mouth. the pale man was given another approving once-over, but she had not yet decided if she would overcome her hesitance to couple with him as well. so long as they both shared one of these men, their goal would be fulfilled, and her glassblue eyes moved sibilant between the other three as if for final confirmation of their involvement.