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

have Not Slept yet please forgive this rambly thing

“I have already had ze wrong male. You were not him.”
And never again would she allow such a poor, past, personal choice define each hour of the hurt in her heart; of a litter and her first which she should have never given. Not ever again.

Wintersbane’s — she, insufferably adamant as ever — admonishment only seemed to provoke the silver, and she turned to presse her scarred cheek into that shoulder, looking over her own and up to him. Half-sight glinted into the glacial face more rented than her own,  “You called me ‘kunnhehku,’ then,”  a vulpine’s mischief curls at tissuey lips as she turned from him, now,  “and you pleaded for me.”   Airgetlám meanders past, pressing her pondsodden ribs to the blue shoulder ... before she nips at the root of plumey tail meeting the hold of twilit hips with elfin deviltry. 

“I would think you would remember my own name, too. Alas, I ...”  humming, now, to his other side; simpering as a chesire queen might.  “I am afraid that I wouldn’t know what to plead in yours, this time.”