Quiet hung in the air between them and, with each passing second, felt more and more tense to Peyote. He knew what he was capable of if she declined and he knew that Vervain did as well. Was she going to make him treat both her and their daughter cruelly to have what he wanted? His heart pounded a bit achingly in his chest, imagining how sad the cries would sound from little Vela but knowing, inarguably, even that wouldn’t keep him from being whatever beast he’d have to become.

Where? She asked against his skin. Where will we go?

It wasn’t an outright no and so, Peyote could firmly keep his more aggressive tendencies at bay. He could continue to stand curled up against her, their warmth shared, and never once put his teeth to her coat.

“Home.” He said, matter-of-factly. "The swamp." They stood in the Prairie now but, since the day he snatched her from the shores, Peyote had decided this was no longer where she would consider home. Their private little place (he assumed it was still as private as it had been before) would be all they would need. Any questions about what he might do if the Lagoon bachelors tried to get pushier at invading his space or if they’d come across someone when he was escorting his girls to eat for the day were immediately dismissed. Peyote had been craving having Vervain and Vela home again so badly that he immediately adopted the thought process that he’d take care of whatever issues arose as they happened.

“Let’s go home.” He repeated, voice growing somewhat strained with how badly he wanted it.