Nova Peak [m] Cloister of St. Glinda

They collided in the manner of a thunderhead meeting a mountain peak; there was no time given for thought, nothing but the raw feeling of it. He didn't question it. He surrounded the sentinel with his own silvered rains, smothered him in it, drew him close with clutching arms and fervent kisses cutting a lightning-path through the dark ruff.

And perhaps there was desire in it — no, he knew that there was, but it was more. Dirtwater Fox felt it in the tremble of his own limbs, the quick heat of his breath ruffling that beautiful ochre fur. In this moment he did not seek to possess. He wanted — he wanted to make this okay. For him if no one else, for the silent sentinel whose eyes even now reflected so much senseless tragedy.

He'd been able to do nothing for the children, nor for the parents they'd lost too young, nor for the wolves who had written their own demise into that terrible scene at the den. But he could do this. He could give this.