Kildeer Rest trappings of starlight

he watched her tear the spine from the skull with sharp precision—savage grace, a woman carved from the same war-forged marrow as he. the wet snap of bone echoed in the hush of the glacier, followed by her careful placement of the offering at his feet. a prize. a symbol. he said nothing, only looked at her, slow and long, before nodding once and taking the bloodied crown in his jaws.
they were not a tender pair. they were made for cold and stone and blood. and yet, in that quiet ritual, something unspoken passed between them—something lasting. enduring.
he smeared her with gore because she was his mate, and she returned the mark because he was hers.
when the meal was picked clean and the marrow sucked dry, he stood and licked blood from his muzzle. eyes heavy, muscles looser now from the work of battle and feast.
he stepped toward her again, brushing against her side with weight. her season clung to her like fire. he rumbled low, rough, already reaching to guide her through the snow, away from the kill, to where the trees might give them cover.
they would rest.
then they would claim again.
and again.
the blood on their fur would dry long before their hunger did.