Blackfeather Woods Angel of small death

roan stood still as her muzzle brushed against the inside of his foreleg, his pale eyes lowering to watch her quietly. her admission, soft and melodic, hung in the air between them. nowhere and nobody. he didn’t respond, but the faint twitch of his ears betrayed that he’d heard, and perhaps, understood more than he let on.

he shifted slightly, stepping back just enough to give her space, his movements deliberate and unhurried. the silence stretched, heavy and unbroken, as he let her draw in his scent, her quiet gestures speaking more than words might have.

after a moment, he leaned forward, lowering his broad head to nuzzle the top of hers. the touch was brief, firm but not harsh, a grounding gesture that seemed almost instinctive. when he drew back, his voice came low and simple, breaking the silence with a single word.

come.

his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, steady and unyielding, before he turned, his tail flicking in a gesture that carried no question. whether she followed or not, roan wouldn’t wait.