Sunset Valley [m] beckoning

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Traditionally he did not answer such calls. Atlas had won his wife long ago, his woman of royal blood and bearing — and while some men allowed their desires to wander, he had always been faithful to her. A common whore who sang out for the touch of any man in her season could hardly compare.

Morticia was getting old, though. They both were, but age hindered women in a deeper way than men. Who could say how many more children she might give him?

So Atlas allowed his curiosity to guide him. The woman was all gilded obsidian, he soon saw, and proud in her bearing. He knew that her children would be beautiful. So he stepped closer, ears folding back to show that he meant no harm, and watched to see whether she would be receptive to his advances.