Sleepy Fox Hollow whistle tones

his touch had landed, light and brief, but the reaction—ah, that was worth more.

the squeal. the pawed ground. the shift of hips and teasing space. he felt it spark through his chest like flint to stone.

colosseum didn’t chase.

he stepped back with intent, letting the weight of her gaze fuel him. neck arched, tail lifted, he moved like the earth should part beneath him—slow, rhythmic, a thunderclap in motion. every line of his frame flexed under the show: strength, balance, bloodline.

he let her look.

her nicker met his ears like music, and he answered with a low breath, deep and warm, ribs expanding with quiet triumph.

she stepped again.

and this time, he met her half way. a snort against her neck as he bit at her withers. mine.