Firefly Glen a cathedral

realization dawns, slow but certain, like the creeping light of dawn over a frost-covered field.

jealousy.

the corners of his scarred lips curl upward in a knowing smirk, the revelation stirring something amused—and perhaps a little wicked—inside him. his muzzle lowers, his tongue pressing firmly against her forehead in a slow kiss.

are you jealous, dove? a whisper that is soft as fresh fallen snow. his muzzle remains close, his breath warm against her fur as he watches her reaction with rapt attention.