Qeya River tarqiup inua

More vibrations—he leaned into them, still nursing but practically mashing his face against her belly as she spoke. The words and sentiment would be lost upon him, but the sensation was soothing. 

She could rattle off the worst words in any language, and Malrok heedless to intent.

As long as she kept talking. . .

He detached with a tiny belch, slowly shifting downward again, feeling slumber pull at his limbs. Her pelt was soft, and he enjoyed the feel of it especially against more sensitive parts of his face: his nose, the tips of his ears. . .

It was within this warm softness that he struggled with wakefulness.

There was a white wolf at the edge of dreams, waiting for him.