Moonspear princes who adore you

Kindle scoffed at this suggestion, embarrassed for what had come out of his mouth despite it never having occurred to him before. Wolves talked different here than they did in Round Valley, and he didn't know all the ins and outs of it just yet. He made no apologies now, but filed away the correction to agonize over later on.

For now, they settled in silence. Kindle looked back out over the mountain range to unpin Treepie from his gaze, pretending not to be listening intently to the sound of her breaths. He'd lost sight of the bighorns, anyway, and the sun had dipped completely out of view. They only had the moonlight, now. Enough to see their surroundings by, but not as much of the greater world.

He made another amused sound when she broke the silence again.

"A song in my heart and stars in my eyes?" he asked her, turning his head to face her once more, a smirk curving his mouth. "No thank you. I wouldn't call myself a romantic, either — but of course I'd like to have a partner. That's the way of things."

The spring was creeping up on them, now. Kindle was caught between anticipation and bewilderment at the idea that, this time next year? He might be a father of a gaggle of half-grown kids, already thinking about the next set. He had no idea what that might feel like, nor what to truly expect from the next several months.

"I never met my father," he said to her, less cavalier about this statement. "My momma's real independent-like."

What he meant but would not say was this: He found the idea of commitment rather frightening, if only because he saw himself, a man, as disposable or even obsolete.