Lion Head Mesa redlands

He would not have felt the warm care of her red gaze on his back, but he would the drape of golden arms as they arrange just so over the lean coyote shoulders.

“You are hurt, my beloved one!” She holds the tampered wrist up for inspection and gasps at the image of leaking crimson!

Without thought she brings the small wound to her lips, pressing a healing kiss gently into the fur as her mother used to when she was a wee girl.

Eyes slowly lift to take in his emeralds, suddenly flushing. If she touched her own paw to his— if she bent her lips for his kiss—

what happens then?