Snowforest Taiga ξ

“Ha! Er vi for sent ude?”
The wild edginess from moments before is fading, shedding strain in each exhale. There is a certain lightness found only in Skorpa's arms. She thinks she must trap him here with her.
“Du ved, som jeg gør, hvad han vil have af en kvinde. Jeg beder ham om at tale til Elowen, det var ikke en anmodning. Det havde været et krav.  Hvis han ikke gør det, tror jeg ikke, jeg tilbageholder hende dette.” Ayovi’s face eases but her eyes are a pulsing deep blue petulance. Is she wrong? Afterall, she and Skorpa had loved for three months. Pride deemed them a paradigm of marriage, but they could not know what awaited in the years ahead.  And another's marital conflict should not involve her, the huntress admits, though she was witness to Lorcan’s attempts at adultery. The ekawotsa deserved more than to be made her husband’s fool. At the least she deserved to know the truth of the man she married. 
Ayovi reaches a kiss to Skorpa’s rough maw. The taste is carrion and endless hunts. Red-staining berries.
Minted with medicinal herbs. She will owe him a great deal after their work with Saatsine concludes... a gaze slips down over the stomach situated between them... Or perhaps now they are even.
Her expression softens.
“Har ikke jaloux, jeg ønsker mand. Desuden er jeg ikke en kvinde, han ser på. Han kalder mig - ja, ingen oversættelse til nordtunge.”