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Azriel: Mother, She Wasn't Afraid

Running feels exhilarating. Even though my agility feels hindered, I keep up my pace to match hers. Her beautiful silver coat shines like a white blob in the dark. She yips when I tackle her after running for some time.

I pin her to the forest ground; her fur is now marred by dirt and twigs. Both of us are huffing. She whines as she is on her back, vulnerable. She bares her neck as is customary, but it is more of a playful submission than fear. I would be able to smell it.

Her gaze is intent, quizzical. My claws dig into her soft fur and giving into the irrational want, I lower my head and nuzzle her neck before darting out my tongue and licking the place where a mark is supposed to go. She lets out a low whine as I continue scenting her. Will she like it if I scent her? She isn’t protesting so maybe, yes?

The ritual itself is very primordial. No one does this anymore. Even mates don’t and here I am scenting a beta who might…

I pull away and stand up. She remains silent, assessing me
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