Wild Berry Meadow It was all she had

“Vambrace,” he repeats with a cheeky twitch of his lips, “and this is Vixen.” He motions at his companion by throwing an elbow in her direction. He glances at her, does a brief double take at her muddy countenance, then returns his attention to the other woman. “What should we call you?”

Her eyes meet his, their color such a fascinating hue in contrast to the muted earthen tones of her fur. Vermouth holds her gaze, intrigued by the boldness of it. He only detaches his eyes to give her a more thorough visual assessment, appreciating what he sees even if she’s not kvit. She’s lissome, her muscles toned beneath a pelt that’s artfully disheveled.

With an appreciative hum he isn’t aware of, his gaze returns to her most intriguing feature: those striking eyes the shade of sunset’s afterglow.