Northstar Vale & prayer-pale stars that pass the drowsing-incensed hymns

She'd dreamt of him;
intermittently and in the moons she'd been forsaken of another, mothering those who remained. For though she hadn’t truly loved all those moons and might never know what true love was, his face had been a shifting shadow; met her as a sapphire specter, and the memory of the wry wit and weight of him against her own and upon her had still yet to be lost from her. As the moons and her melancholy and her tethers to those who grounded her had waned, airgetlám could only find solace — nevermind suspsense — in her dreams.

And now she waded towards that enlivened dream through the pondwaters, materialized from the gloaming before her very half-sight.

Aurëwen neared without qualm, yet with all hushed languidity; wanted to kiss the marring she’s never seen before from his brow; and a thought flit about within her absent head how there seemed to be some routine of her longing for males with riddled throats. But it left her adoring mind in the same half-beat it took to sigh; to pass her crown delicately against that persian’s breast; to bed her scarred cheek upon the gnarl of blue shoulder. The silver's fangs are a preening phantasm through the plush tufts found there.

Breath a private, murmured wisp of a name he'd once proferred to her, dreaded and delicious: "Wintersbane."  A gleaming, boreal smile lune'd beneath the blemishes, and when she wound her fair throat up his dark chest, bliss and humming, it was not only with longing, not simply a search for sensuality.

Though she had oft yenned for him in her slumbering reveries, she had dearly missed her devillish gallant.