What is dead may never truly die

The willow scarred easily against the flowing back and forth motions Bane preformed with the ceremonial carving antler. A feather twisted along his neck with the shift of the wind. The first arc was almost done, humming with content at the beginning shape of the mark. He inhaled, nose twitching at the faint wisp of a familiar scent, tail brushing over the dirt once in a half wag, the memories of who its owner was surfaced. Countless times laying in their den when he'd hold her until sleep claimed the both of them. Cleaning each others muzzle with gentle strokes of a tongue after a kill. Their pride as they watched the wiggling and squirming babes against her stomach when rearing young. The two of them by a river as she fished with him just watching, a delicate iris held in his teeth for when she turned.

Old feelings and sensations. A kiss. A nuzzle. Words of want and need. A gentle press of his hips as he closed his eyes, muzzle skewing in an intimate kiss. Her breathlessness being voiced against an ear as his muzzle nipped and pulled on the fur of her shoulder and neck. Fangs roving and deliciously holding the base of her throat or puncturing the scruff of her neck. The shudders and shivers of their quarters as he satisfied her during many stolen moments together as husband and wife. The pure but raw exhaustion that claimed them afterwards. With bated breath at the growing sounds of another approaching he would turn at the sound only she could've made.

Tahlia's black and russet pelt pressing against his chest as she was suddenly there against him. Eyes closing as he held her with a foreleg to bring her close. Shapely and without the burden of young. Pelt as whole and as soft as she was in her prime. His Tahlia was here with him now. A cross between the growl she loved so much and a hum of content rumbled up from his throat. "Tahlia." Bane breathed. "My Tahlia." The wolf placed a kiss between her ears as he looked down at her. "Are you here to stay?"