Moonspear Even Doves have pride

For better or for worse, Katmai was not a particularly careful person. Not careless, to be sure, but led by feeling and intuition more than careful thought. He would not wish for anything less than everything Kinusi had to offer, good and bad, curse or blessing, for better or for worse. "I will not," he half-teased, unflinchingly and without much thought. No, he wouldn't be careful of this. He would do his best to care for her, but a naive part of him believed wholeheartedly that she would never truly hurt him.

But the mood grew more solemn. Katmai's ears pricked forward as he picked up on this change, and he stood steadily before her, ready for her worst. Maybe she would take him up on his urging right away, and unleash some sort of fury. He was nervous, but ready to follow through.

Only what came out was something else entirely.

Katmai blinked at her, his mouth going slack.

"Kini, I..." Where to begin? "I do want those things," he told her, his voice earnest. "I thought that you knew that, but I suppose I never said. I do want children. Not just ours, but as many as the village can support, so that they'll all grow up running from lodge to lodge with their cousins and siblings."

His cheeks heated under his fur.

"I feel I've loved you since I first heard your voice," he admitted. "And every time I hear it, and every time I see your smile, and every time I shut my eyes and remember that you stand here with me, the feeling grows. I do not know what to do with it. But you always seem to know — and I suppose I've been relying on that. Because I like the way you see the world, and I knew that I'd be happy no matter where I fit into your life — as long as I fit."

He stepped closer to her.

"But I do want those things," he told her, serious until a sheepish smile broke the expression. "You are the lady of my heart, after all."