Deepwood Weald [m] lxix. love, hunt me down

Lótë nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. Again, soft hues of emeralds fell to the ground. It was a physical pain to stay rooted against the tree, shivering as she surpressed the need clawing at her. Still, this was not something she wanted to be done completely out of carnality -- not all of it. 

"Is this...Is this something you want?" The words were hushed, a wisp of her lilting accent. There were many unasked things when her gaze returned to Kjalarr's half sight of ocean depths. 

Did he want any part in their possible children's lives? Was it only the attraction of her perfume that compelled him or was the seafarer prepared to be a father?