Swiftcurrent Creek nightshade

Pale champagne eyes watched the slinking form of Muskrat—one who he had taken painstaking lengths to remain a distance from—and yet for some reason, before morning barely cast its glint of light across the creek, he watched her brazenly step into the den he shared on occasion with his daughter, when she was around.

He remained beneath the canopy of the tall tree nearby, gaze narrowed—what could her intentions possibly be?

His tongue slid over his teeth in contemplation—

—and with silent vigilance, the man stood in the den entrance—peering into the darkness and seeking out the hot gold of her eyes, his countenance stormy. “Hoping to catch me asleep so you can go for the jugular?” Despite the menace of his words, his tone remained softer—as if he didn't wish to awaken the creek just yet.