Sun Mote Copse but you're holding me like water in your hands

wren touched him and colt allowed it, the slowness of it. 
perhaps it was her complete devotion to the moment, perhaps it was the velveteen allure of her wwarm breath, but lips parted to touch tonguetip and colt grinned a lazy ragged smile at the sound wren offered to his wanting ears.
they had time, he and she. time enough for the sun to pour through the slanting branches like buttercoin offerings, streaking and spotting them between the green leaves with the golden light for which this place was known.
colt knew nothing in the way of love; he offered only his physicality entire, the heat of him roving in teeth that tugged fur to skin, the brush and bump of their muzzles, the growls of his own he meant to vibrate her flesh entire.
his; for now.