Fairspell Meadow I

His body limp, he slid slowly from her luscious loins and rubbed his muzzle against her flanks, then her ribs, then her cheek.

You feel divine, Vasya murmured. And perhaps the white witch will bring us into her fold. Do you know Medusa, Love?

Women were all so different. The witch was wild, detached, mysterious. This woman warm, sumptuous, inviting. Both of them were just as much a draw. 

It only served to illustrate how he thought of them—she-wolves were like fruit, numerous and distinct. But would anyone choose to limit themselves to just one, or even two?

It was an utter folly to do so.