Qeya River [m] horn lance

she would shiver at the touch of his cool nose against the taut, sensitive skin of her belly. his arms, muscled and ravenesque encapsulating her with his warmth. no matter how much he tried to shield his heart, his own desires from the saatsine wolves, she'd seek to carve through them with a caribou's hoof.
and he kissed her tenderly, an action so displaced from a man like him, but that's just it, wasn't it? she had reigned desire for the complexities, the nuances, and she found such a living, immovable force in the leader of the caribou hunters.
and their moment of serendipity felt pulled away like a hide beneath her feet. she looked to him, as he did her, ghostly white eyes searching the deepest depths of his own. a brow furrowed in confusion— blackfell is a man from a place like this, she explained. who bore the ways of man. he was not like me, what i once was. she chose to keep the details short, for his own shrinking fuse, afraid that he would pull away at any moment and leave her there wanting more, more.
your strength does not scare me, a paw outstretched to rake through the tough furs against his cheek, his neck. a tender motion from a wife that he deserved. i do not know the others— ishmira, veksar, other shore. a tendril of a lie shriveling at veksar, but that was one she chose to ignore. she chose to ignore him.
but i will stand beside you, husband, she reassures him the best way that she can think of— a kiss to his muzzle, eyes fluttering with the indignation of truth. had the blackmarch boys been scheming? thinking of taking down the chieftain? she could not stand for it. not when she chose this, chose sun eater, choosing their children that bellowed below them. you sent the order for my brother's head, and i did not stop you. had she been nothing more than the loyalest wife? she swallowed. and if they think against you, they will meet the spirits in their death. she did not tremble, except for the lightning streaks of pleasure of his close proximity.