Deepwood Weald [m] and you can hold me, like he held her

She stilled—not only the rumble of his words and voice but the aching familiarity that touched her in that moment. He stole her breath—but he might not have seen it, as the depths of his gaze fluttered away in a shyness she wished to explore, and not only because the compliment he bestowed upon her was one of the kindest she had been given.

She did not realize until that very moment how homesick she had been feeling.

“Travelers often use the stars in their navigation,” she preened, muzzle tilting downward as she curled then, pressing a cheek now toward the snow-covered ground in coy invitation. “So what is it you seek, anam treibhdhireach? ”