Wheeling Gull Isle nemiyon

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make love.
heda could not say she had ever heard the words before, but the implication of them jarred her breath, gilt eyes flying wide for a moment before she averted them with a virginal sheepishness.
her chest seemed as if it were filled with galloping hooves. she glanced back toward their neat little den at the peak of the greenhills, and then around at the wild land which surrounded she and caracal, the dome of blue sky above and the grey-blue sea encircling the richness of sweetharbor.
he touched her in a way she had not before; whispering in a voice she had not heard before; heda shut her eyes and leaned back against him, tonguetip touching his lips in something not quite chaste but without force.
unable to speak, she only nodded, trembling in a good sort of way.
the expression in her face now, a reassurance, trust that he would guide her through this event horizon with the gentility she needed.