Snowforest Taiga ξ

So much has been given for Ayovi to sit here, surrounded by spring’s undeniable beauty and find herself vexed. Call it Lorcan’s effect on women.
She’d needed a moment to mentally adjust to a revelation that she perhaps had always suspected. The huntress had gotten too close to Elowen to refute it, and now she must devise a way to talk with the new mother. And how? It was a bad idea, probably, for many reasons.
Her husband’s call is the only thing that can wrench Ayovi from tumult, spurring her heart into quickening beats. She turns with sudden haste, threading her way to him between lengths of tree. A bright heat speeds the pulse of blood, shorting all ability to think. She must speak with Skorpa—
But it’s the last thing on Ayovi’s mind as she finds the northman standing there, everything she’d asked and more gathered and organized neatly upon the breadth of his back. A slow grin climbs her maw as she steps closer, into the span of two dark legs. Whatever else, it can wait. His fur is thick with cedar smoke and blood and she drifts up her arms to frame his neck, lips brushing the sharpness of his lower jaw softly. Gently, at first— then she is nipping, a frustration taking root until the huntress recants her kiss.
Salt-stung eyes trail the norseman's face.
What can she say?
Nothing.
Skorpa will kill him.