Herbalists' Cache but my aching soul

blackfell does not loosen his grip.

her body twists and legs coil beneath her as she fights for leverage. her fight brings him amusement, great joy; to know he would wed a woman who held more fire than even he. it is what he admires, what he craves, what drove him to pursue her so fiercely.

he reminds himself of this.

she yelps and it causes a flash of concern. he feels the wild thrum of her pulse beneath his teeth, the rise and fall of her breath as she still struggles, still refuses to submit. he second guesses himself then, questioning the idea of fighting with her to begin with even if it was play; his grip loosening, leaving rope for gjalla to yank if she were smart—which she was.

yield, he rumbles, flanks heaving high as he breathes. he does not want to spar anymore, lest hurt her!