Moonspear [m] tabula rasa

He'd half expected her to pull away from his embrace. He had not expected her to return it, and pull him closer.

Their intimacy had been short and sweet, a brief time shared in the depth of her heat this past midwinter. Now, though, he felt that same kind of stirring—driven by emotion, not just instinct.

Me too, Killdeer said softly. Slowly, he placed his cheek against hers, breathing in the smell of her pelt at the nape of her neck. The same neck he'd seized when. . .

I can help, he went on, closing his eyes. Or at least, I can try. Tell me how I can help.