It does not.
I slip, scrabble, and end up clutching a handful of fur as my boot skids uselessly.
Fen does not move.
You’re doing this wrong, he observes coolly.
Oh, am I?I gasp, hauling again.Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate the correct way?
I would not debase myself. I’m sure you’ll grasp the basics shortly.
I swallow a growl of my own and manage to get one knee up, only to promptly lose my balance and thump chest-first against his back with an undignified huff.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Benny choke on a laugh. I’m gladsomeoneis having fun.
Fen sighs. Loudly. Deeply. A sigh of long-suffering.At least you are light for one who makes so much fuss.
I finally swing my other leg over and collapse forward, arms wrapped around his neck, cheek buried in warm fur.
There. Mounted, I announce, breathless.Try not to shake me off. I don’t want to break any bones.
You are stubborn, Little Raven, he mutters, straightening at last. But his amusement hums faintly through the bond all the same. He talks as if he didn’t just force me to wrestle him like an uncooperative mountain.
In one smooth motion Fen rises to his feet. The moment would have been elegant if I weren’t still struggling to fix my grip. Instead, I wobble,windmill briefly, and then clamp down instinctively, my fingers fisting in his fur too hard.
Fen stumbles half a step, catches himself, and freezes.
My fur is attached to me, Little Raven, he says with icy restraint.Do not rip it off. I would look absurd with bald patches.
Mortified, I loosen my grip at once.Sorry. I’m not used to … this much wolf.
His backiswider than Elska’s, the muscles shifting differently beneath me, his gait longer and more powerful. Where Elska moves like lightning held in check, Fen is all steady momentum and coiled strength, each step rolling through his shoulders. Without Kyor’s arms around me, there’s nothing to anchor me but instinct and faith.
You are wiggling, Fen informs me as we move forward.
I am not wiggling.
You are absolutely wiggling.
I try to still myself, shifting my weight carefully. That only makes things worse. Fen’s ears flick back, and he lets out a low, put-upon huff.
This is highly inefficient, he mutters.Wolves are not meant to be burdened with … squirming.
You offered, I remind him.
You forced me to! And I did not anticipate this level of movement.
We make it another few steps before I slide sideways, overcompensating, and thump lightly against his shoulder. Fen stops dead.
If you fall,he says calmly,I willnotcatch you. That would encourage future recklessness.
I grin suddenly because I can feel the lie in his words.You absolutelywouldcatch me.
I would, he admits with a huff.But I would complain about it. A lot.
Despite myself, I laugh, the sound easing the knot of tension in my chest. I loosen my grip and focus again, breathing in time with his movement, letting my body follow the motion rather than fight it.
Gradually, the rocking settles, Fen’s stride evens out, and my balance finds its centre.
