And the north hangs over me like a huge rock, leaning its hands on a hard cold wall. I, in a vice, pressed against him. And I can't get away from Tarrum's strong grip anywhere.

Larre himself is formidable and scary. The eyes are like a deep, stormy ocean. He rages, gets angry, almost shows his fangs. But there is something else in his scent. Anticipation, intoxicatingly sweet.

This feeling is familiar to me. Did you like hunting, Nort? ..

Will we play again?

I feel excited. It is that a seething, bubbling fire easily flares up in me. But this feeling is only a reflection of what Larre is...