Reflection

*my reflection is not much changed, still sexy, still curved, still engraved with the lattice-work of scars and the spiraling vines of ink and the etched marks of his name he loves so much...yes my hips are wider, my stomach not so taut, but I am working on that, my training routine fitting in between feeds and sleep, able to hear the twin screams no matter how far my circuit around Rehv's land goes, the Chosen rushing on instinct to meet the cries only to be halted by a growl as I demat to their crib...God, who knew such territoriality could extend to our young? I thought I'd only ever want to kill females around my male...which I still do, the Chosen one smile away from having their faces rearranged by my blade. But if they tend to our young I feel...angry...like I'm not doing my job right...but I am. That's all I ever do. I dont even have time to...fuck...cater to my male. We feed from each other as needed, but sometimes, every so often, when I am alone, or curled up against his body, embraced by his arms, I cant help but wonder if something has changed.


 Am I still his female, does he still want me in the way a hellren wants his shellan...or am I merely the mother of his young, adored, respected, loved, of course, treasured beyond anything, but ultimately untouchable now? Is sex no longer on his mind, my body for feeding our miracles, for feeding him, but nothing more? 'Cause the Scribe Virgin knows my body is not on board with that program. It aches, it yearns, it craves its mate as my soul does, passion flares hot with his presence, my core clenches empty with the need for his touch, flames lick over my skin with every kiss...but he hasnt reached for me since the twins interrupted us...rubbing small circles up the tiny spine of our daughter as she murmurs into the strands of my hair, miniature fist bunching a thick wave and leading it to her perfect mouth* uh uh malyutka...you’ve just been fed, no eating your mahmen…*her brother cooing from the pillow fort on the bed, my voice carrying the Old Language lullaby loud into the empty room, drowning out my own misgivings…maybe I am being stupid. It’s only been a few weeks…when we have a rhythm set down, a routine in place…yes…maybe then he will touch me…*