Nova Peak Yēodze

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Love as duty, love as tradition. The Ashēeran know these things well. Love for itself is new, unexpected. They are bringing children into this life and her father would have commanded it happen only with a shaman’s blessing. But there are no eyes upon she and Skorpa, and Ayovi hears the faint echoes of the narrative she’d repeated to herself dwindle as he kneels to run his face along her belly. Between the haze of heat and the suddenness of their conception, she fears he might hesitate.
Yet even now, Skorpa does not  falter. He never has. Only murmurs tenderly, holds her close. Time crawls to the sweetest standstill. Ayovi bends to sift a mouth over one crimson, fragrant ear. 
She would have always adored her children. She loves them more because they are his.