Sleepy Fox Hollow [m] i am sorry my love's too much for you

Wylla and @Mahler would soon be making preparations to journey to the coast. Perhaps, she had reasoned, some time away from their same old routine in the hollow was what they needed to kickstart her system. She was grasping at straws, but if she didn’t do something, she feared she would explode. They had planned to go anyway, so what better time than now?

As was typical, the moment she let go of her obsession with making it happen, nature struck Wylla like a lightning bolt, waking her from a dead sleep to a familiar feeling deep inside. Wylla sat bolt upright, casting about with muzzy eyes for her mate. Who knew how long they had before her body betrayed her again by ending it prematurely?

!!!

mahler knew it too, wakened by the quick movement of wylla's body against his own. sleepily, though his senses were swiftly sharpening, the gargoyle nosed along her throat and down one strong shoulder before drawing back to seek her eyes.
was she certain?
paleo was small, supported by hunting and trade. and they, well, neither of them were young.
but he wanted this if wylla also wished it, and wordlessly he waited for her confirmation tha they would once more proceed into the delight of her season.

They had lost one year to the melodramatics between them, and the delay this year had sparked a fear that her fertile years were behind her. Wylla was happy with and proud of the children they had, nearly all grown and departed, living independent lives and hopefully flourishing, but...

Suppose this was the last year available to them?

Confirmation came in the form of a gentle clack of her teeth, a mischievous light in her eye, an urgent bump of her muzzle against his own and finally Wylla clambering to her paws with the sudden need to run and warm up her muscles. The old wound still ached, especially in cold weather, and was always stiff when she first awoke, but it was easy to ignore the stretching of scarred tissue just then.

With a coy wave of her tail, Wylla darted away from Mahler, curving an almost elegant half-moon to look back at him with a laughing and relieved expression.

wylla had the ferocious beauty of a siren, mahler felt; cutting in its striking nature but quick to wrath of a beautifully cold degree. he had not felt that from some time, but the power of his mate in all things kept his heart captivated.
now she glowed in grace and the radiant light of her season. mahler followed, pausing to shake out his hackles and stretch, dancing after her into the soft touch of the air outside their den.
for a long moment he only looked with greatest adoration toward wylla, smiling almost shyly as he proceeded after her, tail waving.

Wylla pranced across the dewy grass into the light fog blanketing the vale, threatening to disappear but stopping just short of where Mahler might lose sight of her. As expected, her mate followed after her and Wylla coiled sinuously around him, nipping at his hip bone and flank to spur him to action.

She cared not if their sons saw them, or the other wolves of Paleo, or if they were heard; they would ensure the strength of their small pack in these moments and Wylla had no time to be shy about it.

and spurred mahler was, the years pouring from him. he was a musiker once more, and his muse was the perfection of wylla as she danced around him, winding closer with the lithe grace of the guardian he had first seen upon the sea.
no time for he to care either; his embrace was sure, beautiful in its familiarity; he rumbled against the base of her ear in the language always sprung eternal;
meine liebe, ich gehöre für immer dir.
and with that mahler drew them both into it, the pleasant waltz they had so offered one another, and the sensation of it so very dear to him in his love and closeness that soon he ceased to know where they separated and where they did not; until it was only them burning gold in the arc of pale fogbanks in the gilded morning.

Gonna fade this one here since she's already halfway through this pregnancy somehow ?

At times, Wylla wondered about the routine nature of her life in the hollow. She had never been a settled being in her youth, always seeking the next thrill, the next challenge. At times, she felt bored with the routine.

But in the routine was familiarity and comfort, and Mahler always found ways to make her feel renewed despite the quiet life they led here. He had wrapped her in his arms countless times before, but her heart thrummed as hard as it had the first time, each and every time. Her mate's touch was one thing she would never tire of.

She returned every sound with an answer of her own, drawing him in and letting herself be consumed until there was no Mahler and Wylla, but only their souls twined together to form the ember that would spark to life in the coming months.