Whitebark Stream when that strange shape drove suddenly betwixt us and the Sun [mtr.]

A shiver, trailing from the tip of his snout and along the length of his spine, to dissipate where his tail tapered. It was an emotional exchange as Dawn mustered a soft plea for him: do not be afraid.

She took a careful stride backward, keen to turn her eyes toward his worried features again. Silence hung between them, tense and filled with uncertainty. More than anything, with everything right at the heart of him, he wanted to trust her. Believe that, together, they could be exactly who they needed to be - for the rest of their lives.

Not the mention the outcome of such an encounter: offspring. Raised with firm instruction from his parents to never sire bastards, he could imagine the scorn with which they'd look upon him if they knew. His previous mateship was one not of his choosing - Ana had been selected by his mother - though by luck, she'd been the only unrelated wolfess available and together they'd fallen fast. Their home pack had been on the verge of in-breeding, so strong was their wish to keep the Russian bloodline pure and, although he never understood the reason why, it was still difficult to shed something so ingrained.

Butterflies took flight in the pit of his belly and, swallowing, he observed her stride toward him. This was it: do, or do not. Artyom had already tried to envision a future alongside Dawn, as he did with most she-wolves that caught his eye, and he'd been content to carry on with his silent consideration for a time.

This changed things, though. It changed everything.

With the ball well and truly in his court, Artyom made that that step forward, a little bolder than before. He touched his nose to Dawn's, breathed in the warmth of her exhale and closed his eyes, too afraid to dive deeper but even more afraid to let her go.