Northstar Vale the path to paradise begins in hell

wintersbane watches as she rounds him, head gesturing so his eyes can follow her path; muscles of his flank trembling as she tucks herself against his ribs. it feels familiar; brings with it the unbidden memory of the night they spent in each other's embrace. he does not pull away. does not put distance between as he thinks that perhaps he should. can either of them claim to be the same wolf as they'd been that night? he cannot and suspects that she cannot either.

but he cannot claim that he does not still desire her in the same manner ...for he does. achingly so.

a tragedy in the making, perhaps.

tell me a tale. she requests and wintersbane only barely bites back his low, breathy chuckle. i am no bard. he protests lightly; his mother might've held a fantastical affinity for it he, himself, did not.