He heard the dead leaves crunching beneath her hooves before he felt her warmth. He almost cringed away, figuring she was going to physically chide him for being such a negative asshole - I deserve as much, he mused morosely - but when her soft velvet nose touched touched his cheek, Het Vuur let his sore, tired body relax. He closed his sightless eyes, leaning a little heavier against the young tree while he soaked her in, enjoying the sensation of a nonviolent touch.
When Sterre spoke, her voice soft and suggestive, Het Vuur's eyes snapped back open and after a moment's hesitation he stood straight, the tree creaking noisily upright without his weight to hold it down. He arched his neck and turned his long nose toward Sterre, searching until he found her, whereupon he pressed his lips against the firm muscle of her rump, tracing a line alongside her tail, resting his chin on the soft skin just above it... He breathed her in, trying to remember the last time they had given into their passions in such a way. It had become a less frequent habit of theirs now that they were older, but his desire for it, once rekindled, was always just as strong. Het Vuur turned his body to face Sterre full-on, trampling a small bush in the process, and pressed against her a little firmer, as if to make certain this was what she really wanted from a blind old fool like him.
Even if she did pity him, he would let her pity him all night long.
HET VUUR
†.
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