Dragoncrest Cliffs [m] salt plying

He took her hint, though provided one last teasing push, yellowed grin delighting his hardened old features. He found her eyes while gently rubbing the side of his head against her rump, covering her further in his scent. He bit gently at her thigh, squeezing before freeing her. 

His attempts were many, unsure paws briefly lifting and then falling down, though his tail never stopped swaying behind him. 

Eventually, the old wolf had succeeded, throwing his torso onto the Chani’s back recklessly as front legs fought for grasp, soon settling behind her shoulders. He expelled an exhausted huff of breath between her ears. There was a moment before where he settled, letting his body melt against hers as he took in her scent, felt her warmth beneath him and gave himself a moment of rest. 

”Ain’t gone hurt ya, darlin’,” he said, then took her scruff between his teeth as he propped his body up. He held her, but did not bite down. Balance vanished with age, and he only meant to hold her for stability. 

It took only a moment for the two to melt together further, the old wolf familiar once again with the act. A dance, but not one of elegance. He performed, but his exhaustion was unable to be hidden behind his quickened panting, which filled her scruff with wet warmth. He kept his promise, however. This dance was not one fulfilling of his need for primality—though it was successful in doing that too—rather, one of empathy. His ears were tuned to her, and his eyes attempted to read her.