Snowforest Taiga ξ

He tastes like fire. Smoke and earth. Ayovi comes up to her toes, eager and wanting to be closer. This isn’t consoling anymore, it isn’t sweet. They’d left sweet behind. Somehow she manages to gracefully heave herself atop him. She sinks into his fur, weight spreading out over his body, feeling the norseman big and heavy and everywhere beneath her. She leans in her lips, kissing slow and deep until her limbs are shuddering.
Skorpa’s sentiment is gorgeous. She cannot think of anything nearly as lovely to say back, only to sprawl herself over his ridges like a bank of clouds and stare into his firelight.
“Kys mig.”

In her world, there is Skorpa.
The rest is confetti.