Nova Peak ε

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ayovi stjernebjerg.

it lingered in his mind as he charged the slopes with powerful build, heading downward to the first den, the one found by the silent moon. gathering bearskin to shoulders, he wrapped the frozen meat in its caribou hide and bore everything back.

he did not count the minutes until he was exhaling icewind and inhaling ayovi; the northman brought blood and flesh and himself inside, flinging caribou against the wall, capturing bear from his nape and tossing it to the floor.

then his arms were around her waist against, his mouth vying against her own; his own palm moved to match her own.

a breathless growl then, an almost-playful twist of his shoulders as he let ayovi descend into the bearskin and looked down upon her glowing form there amid the dark hairs, eyes tracing her in da vinci admiring. skorpa had seen bloodstained grass, the crushed limbs of dying men; he had heard their screams. he had been the cause of many.

but now his touch shook.

outside did storms rise again over the place called nova, and at the entrance to their lair, snow began to flurry.

skorpa paid it no mind, waking each fibre of ayovi to her own pleasure before he sought his own; wakening with the single-minded intent of a priest stood in a graveyard.

nova mountain.

stjerneberg.

skorpa mean to see that her voice would flower spring up to its very summit.

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