This is the kind of evening he will always cherish. Always, he will return to this oasis for the tender care that would cleanse him of his day, to the gentle touches of a Wife who loved him in spite of her upbringing, in spite of his own, in spite of the wildness where they lived. He looks on her now with a curious eye as he talks, though his expression doesn’t betray it. He likes to watch her thoughts as they form, express in her delicate ears, her bright eyes, in her lovely flesh. She is still an enigma to him, bewitching in her demure nature, even when she has the opportunity to be more wild like the women of Mira. She is so innocent, so precious in her glee and her vigor.

It reminds him how much younger she was than he. When she was a yearling, she was told she would marry him - no choice and no hope for love. He was already learning the art of War when her mother had brought her into the world. There had even been two betrothals before she was even a twinkle in her parent’s eyes.

He looks around them as they talk, now and then, and admires the place she had picked around the greater oasis he reserved as his own. It makes him proud that she’d situated herself at the place where he’d best be able to find her, though the foliage was not as thick here as it was on the more easterly, secondary oasis pool. It is a good place, he thinks, even without the metropolis comforts of Mira or even Mahgrib.

He sees when she grins over his discomfort and he finds it both unnerving and amusing that she’d take such joy in disrupting his sense of stability. It did make him yearn to please her, to make her feel the power she wielded, but he tries to keep himself more sedate.

Her patience in his self-deprecation is accepted, though there is a shadow on her face that tells him he didn’t wax overly wordy enough to earn the apology he gave. He continues again with washing over her, taking lingering pleasure in smoothing the water down her hide. The night is pleasant and he is comforted by their bath, his cleaner self leaned more heavily against her. "I know it's early, but what would you like to name him, if its a boy?" She is speaking soft, tender, but there is a smile there in her voice that turns his head so he can see her better.

"I have thought of a few… but perhaps, Errai, for the Shepherd star. He will be raised to lead and to guide, after all. According to Miran history, It was the sire of the brothers that split off and became Mira and Mahgrib’s founding fathers. I have always thought it was a good, strong, wise name" He smiles softly, tenderness weighing his eyes down towards her barrel, his nostrils flaring as he reaches over and around to flutter them against her belly. "But what if you are blessed like your mother and it is a little girl, beautiful and wild like my own Beautiful One?"