The Sentinels [m]y love is a lifetaker

The weight of what they'd done settled over her like one of the thick pelts she'd worn as a third wife in Moontide. Things were different now; she was no longer the third, but the only. It hardly mattered in this moment what had come before.

Okay, she murmured easily, shifting to catch the fur of the otter carcass with her teeth and drag it further into the den. Marina ate slowly, thoughtfully. After a time, she said, I don't think we should stay here. She let the words hang in the air, half unspoken question; should we find others? Should we find a place that's only our own? Logistics came more easily to her than the raw emotion of the past days, but even so, Marina was uncertain. She didn't know how to do — this, the intentional building of a life with her sights set on forever. She'd only ever stumbled into her own life before now.