Herbalists' Cache hoof cache

her body yields beneath him, at first. she relishes in the worship, the softness of his mouth against her collar, the heat of him pressed just close enough to make her breath hitch, her pulse thrum. for a moment, she allows herself to believe it. the dream. the possibility of more than stolen glances and forbidden touches.
but reality is never far.
her lashes flutter as her eyes open, her belly heavy between them—a reminder of the life she already carries, of the man who built the snow shelter waiting for her return.
slowly, gently, she begins to shift beneath him. her paws find his chest, not to push him away, but to steady herself, as though pulling back from the edge of something vast and dangerous.
i am not worthy of love, she whispers, and they both know it's true. she says it not to wound him, but as fact. as law. she has never been worthy of anything but survival. of power. of control.
her nose finds his, brushing, teasing in a final, fleeting touch—a silent apology for all they are and all they cannot be.
now i must bathe, she breathes, her voice like wind over ice.
and she slips from beneath him like mist, leaving only her scent tangled in his fur, her warmth fading from where it pressed into him.
without looking back, she moves toward the water. toward duty. toward her husband.
but her heart stays with him, trembling, aching, knowing it cannot remain there for long.

exit SE :(