The Wall Toome

The pressure of his tradeoff burns into flesh along the same route traced by his nose. There is no tenderness in the move, no affection– only dominance. Ayovi winces– painfully, fearfully certain that she will be alone, with no pack to share the hunts. No mother to guide her through her body’s changes. She had once dreamed of being held in such high esteem that an Asheēr man would choose her. Now she felt assailed by the idea, mocked with Faust’s gentleness as he criticizes her skill and calls her by another woman’s name.
The ivory face holds still only to turn away as soon as he withdraws, tail tucking tighter. He was no Asheēr man. He was not her pack. Her jaw sets firmly but anxiety claws at her belly.
“I’m not your wife,” the growl is strained as she looks back upon the snow marked by his shadowy steps.