Lost Creek Hollow [m] still water

morwenna felt the heat of his breath ghost along her skin, each touch of his muzzle tracing her like the strokes of an artist crafting something divine. she stood, proud and still, her own desire curling within her chest, insurmountable and untamed. his voice was a melody she did not comprehend, the words foreign yet weighted with meaning that echoed in her bones.

s'aat.

she understood that much. wife. the word unfurled between them, a tether binding her closer to the glorious figure who circled her like the moon orbiting the earth. her gaze hooded, half-lidded with need, she drank in the sight of him, the curve of his strength, the regality that emanated from every deliberate step.

her voice was soft, yet unshakable, carrying the weight of her own longing. my husband, she murmured, the words laced with unspoken invitation, a call for him to close the space that remained between them.

she wanted him nearer. closer. to feel him claim her as surely as she knew he already had. the stars bore witness to the moment, but morwenna cared only for the warmth of his touch, the weight of his presence, and the promise of what he could provide.