Weaving Tales

As Poem plucked the goose, Sparhawk made the fire. He hummed a little tune as he worked, then he joined the woman by her side. She expressed her gratitude and the redwood man leaned forward, kissing her between the ears. "I am happy too, Miss Po-Em. All time with you is good, happy time, yeah?" He pushed the goose forward, urging her to eat first. They were both big wolves and their heads would bump together over the little goose. He would eat only when she was finished. In the mean time, he sang her a soft little song in his home tongue.

Once she'd eaten, he at a bit, but this night wasn't about eating. It was about telling stories. It was about getting close. It was about the two of them being together and being happy. Once they were done with the meal, Sparhawk took the remains and wiggled out of the clearing. He deposited the carcass a ways off, keeping things from disturbing them during the night. Returning, he settled down upon the furs beside Poem and tossed another log in the fire.

"I want to tell scary stories. You want to go first, or me?" He sort of had a story in mind. Something that he could pull form his past. Give her a little insight as to who he was without actually telling her who he was. In the mean time, as he waited for her to answer, the man pulled her close with one big leg. He nuzzled behind her ear and gave a rumble of enjoyment.