Redhawk Caldera So let me hold you tight and share a killer, diller, chiller, thriller here tonight

Fox had groaned and rolled over when Peregrine had nipped her ear, but she hadn't woken up. If he had known she had rolled around in caribou dung last night, would he still think that she smelled like "a blend of the perfect autumn spices"? It didn't matter, but it was a funny thing to incorporate into this post. (Oh hey, fourth wall. I haven't forgotten about you!) When Fox finally did rouse from her sleep, that all-too-familiar feeling slammed into her like a ton of bricks. Immediately, she went stomping around the rendezvous site in search of Peregrine.

He was nowhere to be found.

After what seemed like days of agonizing and snarling at anybody who came anywhere close to her an unable to make a single solitary sentence, she caught a glimpse of his scent. Like a bitch in heat--oh wait, she was a bitch in heat--she scrambled toward him as quickly as her legs would take her. "There you are," she said, her own growl joining his. This wasn't their first tango, or even their second. Her body was ready.