Dawnlark Plains kwana-ci

A warm silence blooms between them— Ayovi, who had grown up between fear and a desperate desire for her father’s approval, had not anticipated the true impact of Coväh’s acceptance. The boy from across the creek was not a thing like her Ashēeran patriarch, but he was the last of them. And in the stallion’s joy she heard her father’s, too.
“Of course it is,” she breathes, stammering, tossing her arms about his shoulders before he can be persuaded to run off again. “They’re important to me. And so are you,” her laughter turns into a nuzzle, sinking her nose deep into the coarseness of his unruly neck. Scenting for any last vestiges of home.
“They’ll adore you. They all will,” she assures, for the hunt ran so strongly through the veins of norse and plains. Ayovi draws back her nose to see once more into those sunrise eyes. “You know I would never hinder your adventures. But I want you in my life, Coväh,” she murmurs, surprised by the possessive sting in her own tone.