Sea Lion Shores our iron coffin

it was as well that merrick pushed no further. astara’s command over her interest was a tenuous thing; had he drifted any closer, he might have found the blackbird untethered from her temperate mooring. 

resting her head against his, and feeling, sensing, the way his blood leapt under his skin, the sensation of his fur against hers — it was enough for the shadow to be content, but drive no further. 

drawing another sigh from deep within her chest, astara pressed against him once and then rose. their contact was short — fleeting even — but that was the careful, sure way to tame something wild — give it small bouts of positivity, and build upon it.