Nova Peak ε

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She would not release the norseman without passing her own mouth into his neck, wherein she murmurs, “Skorpa Stjernebjerg. Ayovi Stjernebjerg,”  and smothers a grin. She comes to burn against his hip and with coarsened fur underpaw. The languages they do know; how to hunt, how to pleasure one another. Skorpa too has begun their tryst with his eyes, watering Ayovi in anticipation to fit him. When he turns to leave she watches as the white day outside bathes him, pouring softly down to illuminate bloodred ridges.
Then he is gone, and the melody awakened by the northman strums, compounding waves of ocean that melt Ayovi's knees. She slants against the wall, saturated with desire for her husband to return; the paw that wishes to feel him reaching instead for herself with quickening breaths.
Flashes; flashes of him.