Snowforest Taiga you were laid in verse, living on a promised word

the invitation is a hook buried deep, and he answers without word. frost crackles beneath his weight as he closes the distance, the low breath in his throat thick with want and warning both. his size devours the space between them; shoulders broad as stone, fur catching the moon’s blue pall.

she smells of danger, of dark water and promise. his scars burn beneath her gaze.

kanuux circles her once, slow, a predator tracing the edge of something divine. the air bends around them—ice, smoke, heat. he lowers his head to her shoulder, breath ghosting over her fur, the sound that leaves him low and rough, half-growl, half-prayer.

woman of dark, he rumbles, the words shaped like ritual, thick with his broken tongue. you… not fear sea. not fear me.

his muzzle trails the line of her jaw, claiming both scent and sight. then i take you.

and in that vow there is no softness, no plea—only the terrible certainty of a man who has crossed too many white horizons and found, at last, something worth the hunt.