Nova Peak τ

She does not answer at first, her lips parting only to inhale what she can of his breath along her nape. His words have a rich vibration. Skorpa’s voice is always like that— rich and slow. It shivers down her spine, awakening her again.
Is it so wrong to want him even now?
She turns her face into the hollow of his throat, where the ice of streamwater still clings. A paw, unhurried, finds it’s way into the ruddy tangles of his neck as she shifts. “Better, now,” she whispers. "Jeg tror, jeg snart vil være i stand til at amme dem."
Her eyes hold over his. There is something almost imperceptibly haunting in them. Almost.
Ayovi notices.
“Skorpa,” her voice, rasped still from blood-loss and sleepless nights, comes firmer now. She turns against him until their chests brush, their breaths crossing paths. "Du reddede dem. Jeg kunne ikke - de ville være døde," a paw lifts to hold his cheek, nose grazing his own.
"Jeg har aldrig set dig så stærk," a paw lifts to graze his cheek.