Silver Creek [m] Ain't nowhere left for the good to go

Moved by her tears, Winterbourne pressed his nose gently to the delicate curve of her throat just beneath her chin, muzzle tucked beneath hers in a gesture of promise and affection. She would be more than the mother of his children. More, even, than merely his wife; his purpose now, queen of all that he held gingerly in bruised and trembling hands.

Until her, he'd only been a man without a home. A man with nothing to his name but the dirt beneath his nails. He couldn't give her the world — but he could tear it down piece by piece, set it all alight to warm her with the fire.

We already are, Winterbourne assured her softly.