Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

“Eset,” he implored, purring her name—her eyes gazing up at him, her form limned in the oncoming moonlight as it traced broken reflections of them both upon the rushing waters—a fitting sentiment that resembled his life. Still, broken as perhaps he was—maybe even she—what would it look and feel like to hold her in his arms?

But her response is only to glide her lips closer to him—not truly consent, and he wonders if she is grappling with the season… or the situation in and of itself.

Gently, then he draws her closer—night black fur melting to scorched cinnamon, and chastely, he holds her—pressing from his mind thoughts of his anam cara. Because why should he feel the sting of guilt at finding refuge in the delicate arms of another?

Nestling her, he feathers a kiss upon her cheek—up to her ear, and then settles his chin to her crown, eyes closing as he forces himself to settle—reminding her: “I told you this was a safe space.”