11/16/2025, 8:42 PM
Once, twice, a third time—
Iglux̂ is unable to stem the loom of tearshed, eyes downcast as she and Cen’s wrists are bound. Shock rocks her chest fiercely, for she hadn't expected Meleys to know, and now her ears absorb each spirit’s name from the lips of darfang.
She mattered. Her traditions mattered.
Her mantle of daughterliness clings tightly. The wind is persistent; it is her mother listening. The stars seem on the lake very close; that is her uncle spying. Everything in nature is her relative, standing witness. She is never alone. Her hearing follows now the draw of nightwind’s breath, the way it hooks before he speaks in tones warm as fire.
Her eyes lift to take Cen within her sights.
There are answers she did not have; if they were truly fated. If they would be happy. If their marriage would last.
But there were also truths that stood like mountains since the beginning; that Cen is doting and protective. That looking on his face makes her shy because she likes it so much. That she wants his body against hers in sleep, and often when they are awake. That she likes the smell of him after a hunt. That she craves the honestly of his mind.
And the truth amid the uncertainty of this night is that Iglux̂ wants nothing more than Cen’s voice. When he speaks, he has her full attention. She hears it and looks to find his face, and once she does, she stares and listens the way a child watches something others forget to be dazzled by.
Tears fall now, her vulnerability, and Iglux̂ allows them. The huntress places her paw into the palm of her husband, impressing this peace into memory. She watches his face, seeing every veiled expression in Cen's singular eye as the most honest look into his mind.
“This is the paw that will run alongside your’s. It is the paw that will hold you when grief fills your mind. The one that will tenderly cradle your children. Where you call, I come. Where you bleed, I bleed. I chose you before, and I choose you now, Cen Lanzadoii of the saatsine.”
Iglux̂ is unable to stem the loom of tearshed, eyes downcast as she and Cen’s wrists are bound. Shock rocks her chest fiercely, for she hadn't expected Meleys to know, and now her ears absorb each spirit’s name from the lips of darfang.
She mattered. Her traditions mattered.
Her mantle of daughterliness clings tightly. The wind is persistent; it is her mother listening. The stars seem on the lake very close; that is her uncle spying. Everything in nature is her relative, standing witness. She is never alone. Her hearing follows now the draw of nightwind’s breath, the way it hooks before he speaks in tones warm as fire.
Her eyes lift to take Cen within her sights.
There are answers she did not have; if they were truly fated. If they would be happy. If their marriage would last.
But there were also truths that stood like mountains since the beginning; that Cen is doting and protective. That looking on his face makes her shy because she likes it so much. That she wants his body against hers in sleep, and often when they are awake. That she likes the smell of him after a hunt. That she craves the honestly of his mind.
And the truth amid the uncertainty of this night is that Iglux̂ wants nothing more than Cen’s voice. When he speaks, he has her full attention. She hears it and looks to find his face, and once she does, she stares and listens the way a child watches something others forget to be dazzled by.
Tears fall now, her vulnerability, and Iglux̂ allows them. The huntress places her paw into the palm of her husband, impressing this peace into memory. She watches his face, seeing every veiled expression in Cen's singular eye as the most honest look into his mind.
“This is the paw that will run alongside your’s. It is the paw that will hold you when grief fills your mind. The one that will tenderly cradle your children. Where you call, I come. Where you bleed, I bleed. I chose you before, and I choose you now, Cen Lanzadoii of the saatsine.”
