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

He drew closer—she rose upon limbs that felt both compelled and weak. The rise of her slender muzzle—tasting the air between them. He scented of fresh water and wilderness. He smelled of—

—her thoughts drifted away instantly as found her back to the drape of trees, barely grazing the fur and skin along the cloying curve of her nape, and she found a paw lifting desperately to him—moving to grip him, to pull him closer to her in this moment as her mouth drifted toward the cusp of his ear. “Ath-thoir mi à luaithre do lasair,” she pleaded.

She had defined Solharr only days earlier as Cernunnos—but now she swore the God stood before him, embodied in a gaze of gold and blue—how wrong she had been before.