Nova Peak Toquer

she had doubted her husband's hospitality, and that alone brings lorcan great humor. it is wry, as it pulls upon his dark mask. a smile cracking, teeth revealed—but not knives aimed at this woman. he rises, coming closer.

and why is that? curiosity killed the cat.

he is a slinking form of ink as he dances toward the trout. ignoring the absence of his wife, as she continues to laze within their den. it is not her fault. she is tired, her pregnancy progresses. still—lorcan hides the shame he feels. she should show herself. meet this woman. he pauses, to say: you are generous.

he noses at the trout, and then pulls it closer, teeth upon its tail, lifting it and turning to deposit it at the entrance of their little hollow. inspecting briefly elowen's resting form, hidden among roots and dirt, then turning halfway back to ayovi. perhaps his wife would join later.

you could say i enjoy taking in the sights. a response to the snow woman's question, and then he offers her invitation to join him on the walk he appears to be taking now. away from the den, along the length of the snowy embankment. being alone... he trails off. well, i've grown tired of it. and now i'm a husband, and soon to be a father. elowen and our children deserve a home, yes? i've put aside my wanderlust for them.