Hoshor Plains [m] the tortured poets department

A small frown crossed his usual solemn features—the bump of her own shoulder met with only the ghost of a smile, though his eyes remained trained on tear, noting that the grief in her eyes looked awfully close to falling tears. “I’m not an expert on it, but if it’s kids you want more than anything… Maybe he’ll come around if you talk to him. Or… You find someone else to help out.”

From his observations on watching his to-be wife, there was never a lack of male suitors lining up to couple with a she-wolf in heat.

His frown deepened.