With jealousy raising its ugly head, Iglared, narrowly resisting the urge to wrap my hand around his throat and squeeze until he went feral again. He spared me a smirk. Asshole.
Crescent lay curled in her nest, hiding herself in the dim corner, but when I got close she didn’t stop me. Her wide, golden eyes peered out, and I climbed into the bed beside her.
“What did you do while we were gone?” I asked, purely to watch the pink spread over her cheeks.
She squeezed her thighs together, mouth opening and closing without a sound coming out.
I pulled one of the blankets up over my legs, leaning in and brushing my lips across her cheek. “Don’t worry, I already know.”
I pulled away just as quickly, because that was a bit of a lie.
Something had happened to leave her embarrassed, since velvet rose and cocoa was thick in the air of the small room.Vandle was involved, based on his smirk, but what they’d done precisely was a mystery.
One I was eager to explore on my own, by tasting the salt of her skin, and sweetness of her slick.
But I needed to be a bit more stable. Or her, more experienced. So for now, I’d claim some cuddles, thank you very much.
As I tried to settle in beside her, trying not to fuck with her pillow placement too much, something in my pocket poked against my skin.
Sketchbook.
Coloured pencils.
It was barely finished, but Vandle had already given her a gift. The gift of… well… oral, maybe? A good finger bang? Either way, he was ahead of me and Ihatedthat.
I needed to give her a gift too, ready or not.
Flipping to the first page of the old, worn sketchbook, I ripped out the colourful artwork and held it out to her.
“What…” She trailed off as her gaze focused on the art, and a second later one small hand had unearthed itself from the blankets and snatched the paper from me.
It was a landscape. One of the few memories I had from outside—as hazy as it was.
The sky was done in shades of orange and red, a sunset over a dark mountain. In the foreground there was a grey barn and a field dotted with cows and sheep.
It felt like an important place.
Somewhere I wanted to share with her, even though I couldn’t say I quite remembered what was special about it.
“Did you draw this?” she asked.
Her fingers traced the horizon.
“Yeah.”
“It’s beautiful. You’re really talented.”
She tried to give it back, but I shook my head. “For you.”
Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip. I don’t think she believed that it was really for her, but I ripped out another page and handed it over.
This one, a portrait of her, was one I’d done while she slept last night. She looked delicate and peaceful with her hair splayed out around her. She snatched it from me with a little squeak.
“W-why did you draw me?”
Because then, I’ll always remember how important you are to me.
No matter how many times I lose everything, memories of my childhood, life, or pack, there’s one thing that I can always remember. I know my artwork, through everything. Know what I’ve drawn—even if I don’t know why I’ve drawn it, or what it is.
