Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

The gentle wisp of one last songbird only now begins to fade in the night air—the brush of her muzzle upward to his chin, eliciting a crooning rumble from the man. He can feel her gaze on him, but he’s too invested in looking over her himself—tracing contours, urging himself to take this moment to memory. The scent of the berries tease at his nose—certainly burn in his belly and emboldens him. But there is more to her than that—the softness of the sand is ebbing from her—but she smells of sunlight.

Of sweetness. Of stolen moments.

She’s placing a kiss to his scar—his breath hitching as he stills—her words still blurry for consent, if he considered it truly.

But enough for him to relax more to her—his own breath toying at the silken fur along her lobe, his nose tracing down before a paw lifts, cupping her cheek—more droplets spraying. “Why are you here, Eset?” It’s a question—but the softness of his voice doesn’t demand an answer—not yet. Instead, his own lips rove toward her, tasting her—searching.

This was certainly not in his plan.