Nova Peak Yēodze

Their impasse turns into a game of wills and Ayovi is ashamed how swiftly his touch sets a shiver through her.
“Don’t you dare,” she makes a face. This is her lot for choosing a wildman mate. Her husband might favor carnage to cloak his own scent on the hunt. Whatever the reasoning, his wife had made relative peace with the warpaint. It might be his dirt, but she was the one who liked to roll in it; to be covered in his brand. Though Ayovi is too ashamed to confess this, and certainly not now.
The moon is nearly full, the evening so clear she can see distant hills, their peaks crowned in snow. The little mountain creek is not far, and just deep enough to stamp his paws.
“Skorpa,” she gentles her voice, “at least your feet,” and noses at a heel. “I have something to show you.”