Swiftcurrent Creek the peanut butter conspiracy

It was with a steely glance over his shoulder to the borders that the swarthy shadow gave, his fiery eyes unreadable as he unfurled himself from the sleeping form of his son, Akavir. The boy was growing rapidly, certainly not needing his fathers frame melded to his, and yet with the chill of winter and the heartache the Mayfair family was enduring, they had both silently accepted it. 

He he stalked toward the borders—a black panther in both grace and intent. Durnehviir was gone, having bid her farewell to speak of finding Viinturuth outside of the valleys that sheltered them. The very home she had insisted he take her to, to bear their young and raise them in to a safe haven. Now, he was here without here, left to steer the pack on his own and raise his three remaining children. 

As he came to to the stranger, the Mayfair’s deep gaze rounded over the form of the svelte woman before them—was he allowed to appreciate the beauty of others now that he was essentially single? 

He didn’t have it in him. 

His eyes stole to Soltero, casting him a nod, trying to internally shake the cloud that hung heavy in his shoulders. “Hello,” he greeted, his voice lower than usual, raw with the emotions he kept bottled for now.