Two days it took for the almost gutted Aes'r-Legranel named Hild to recover. The Jorn natives had taken a beating during the attack from that souped-up lion, Hild when it had driven its dagger-like fangs into her stomach and Tomas when he had thrown himself between the beast and his mate armed only with a knife. A brave move that, and he'd paid for it in deep wounds from biting jaws and slashing, hooked mitts the size of a frying pan. Rik'e would not regain the lost finger but seemed relatively unimpeded by its loss, though it was taking some time for the rest of his hand to recover, his partner and Sano adept Dais'e was pouring most of her mana into accelerating the healing of Hild's goring. What might have taken weeks to come to rights was instead a matter of perhaps eighty Rounds of the Twins.
Ulric had managed to regain most of his strength from the over-taxing of his system, drawing too deeply on his core and classes, the strain altogether different from that of a [Core Capacitor]. In the practice of using that trait, he simply allowed his magic to be poured into a spell, externalized. The more extensive internal usage of his class's particular skills, compounded when they had been layered on top of one another had damaged him badly. Ulric resolved to avoid any similar situations or the use of the resulting skill that had manifested until he was better prepared to endure its after-effects.
Towards that end, Ulric would need to rededicate himself to the exercises that Brighteyes' mother, Bathe, had taught him. Her instruction had been towards the use of his core and mana to infuse his body with strength, reinforcing it, with the primary goal at that time of resisting the effects of core awakening. Now though, he had well and truly entered a domain wherein the integration of mana with his combat skills demanded more resilience towards the destructive potential, literally, of Ceraun. He'd more or less short-circuited himself and had not much enjoyed the consequences of manaburn.
Use of his core was straight out, for the near future. Even marginally ramping up his magic caused discomfort in that pocket behind his heart and sent visceral twinges throughout his limbs denoting the fragile nature of the healing that had repaired the worst of the damage he'd done to himself. It reminded him of the backlash he'd once suffered early on from attempting to Overcharge spells repeatedly, which mistake had delivered a painful lesson on the limits of his core's abilities. Magic was awesome, and the spirit was willing, but the flesh was bruised and spongy.
Speaking of which, Ulric directed his attention to the budding friendship and, or, skinship between his Shadow and the Legranel Herdrider Prenya. The pair of them had nearly come to blows at the first meeting but they'd come thick as thieves after the fact. An interesting combination of physical attraction and common interests seemed to be at play. Taipan could be as reclusive as himself so he appreciated that she'd found herself a friend on the long road. Even now, they were competing in some game of knife throwing, the stakes, there were always stakes, unknown to him. He had been rather shocked to find out that he was part of those stakes at times. A pleasant surprise, to be sure and he begrudged his partner not that she roped him into her reindeer games. It beat laying around aching all day and regretting his failure to grow more rapidly in the ways of otherworldly combat arts.
The classes had been almost of negligible importance for the majority of his Reforged life. The direct manipulations of mana and the fundamental use of his core being more immediately important to decipher, alongside the lessons of Idra'se to help him learn to use his body to its greater potential. However, following his awakening and the increased frequency of the violent, brutal fights against monsters and men he'd found the development of these bizarre manifestations of Akashic knowledge called classes to be more front and center. They'd kept him alive, more than once. They'd kept Taipan alive, more than once. Don't worry about the mule, Ulric, just load the wagon.
As knives glittered under the red-gold light of the rising suns, enthusiastic shouts of the betting plains Elves, alongside his partner, rang out. It was peaceful, in an Apache kind of way. Just Elves being Elves while he took in the majesty of this strange world's vistas.
Snow was thinning rapidly under the daylight, had melted in great swathes across the visible plains. Some of the rises were even ever so slightly bare of the stuff. Winter's hold was near to gone. He was assured that Spring would come fast, the failing of the snow would be almost immediately accompanied by the waking of the vast grassland to new growth.
Already the creatures of the plains stirred, their calls echoing across the savannah. Following the [Amberfang] assault, traps had been set outside the Haven to make any visiting predator regret its temerity for intruding on the plains travelers, a thing that was only normally necessity when roaming far, far from the usual tracks of the migrating Legranel cities, known locally as Roosts. Nightwatch shifts were undertaken with deadly seriousness, not a second time would the Herdriders and their guests be caught unawares.
"Taipan, for how long do you intend to join Rik'e in losing fingers over there? We are long since packed to make the journey." Ulric called to his Shadow, who was juggling seven knives currently in a double loop.
She turned her head away from her feat of dexterity, flashing those fantastic jeweled irises at him with their shimmering bronze flecks, a fierce expression so distinctively hers upon her face.
"I am not to lose anything, Ulric, including this wager. You had better hope for mine victory as well, Prenya grows bolder in her forfeits!" Announced the dark beauty.
A slight tinge of red crept up the Plainswoman in question's ears, including the cropped one. Prenya had not reckoned properly when she'd begun her overtures towards the pair of beautiful strangers. They were both of them without shame and worked like wolves to bring their prey to ground. Figuratively, of course, the actual physical acts were simply well-executed lewdness.
The rest of the Herdriders had likewise finished their preparations to move and all awaited eagerly the results of the contest unfolding, as it had every morning since the recuperative break. Taipan completed the one-hundredth consecutive double loop using seven knives and collected them from the air with the grace that did her heritage proud. The Legranel woman began to toss the blades in that pattern, holding steadily, her hands blurring with nearly equal agility. But only nearly. The seventy-sixth turn saw a blade nick her thumb deeply and her flinch caused the next blade to nearly gouge her foot as it hit the matted grass and bare dirt of the Haven. Cursing, she declared her rival victor and proclaimed, "Next time, the Treesleeper will know defeat!" to the laughter of her kin. They were starting to find it difficult to place wagers on their more immediate cousin, Taipan's legend was growing rapidly amongst them.
A chuckling Taipan bounced over to where Ulric was finalizing the adjustments of his pack and the contents of the sled they pulled, now holding the additional prizes of the remains of two [Amberfang] males, what could be salvaged of them, and two females, the spoils of he and Taipan's kills. They had offered to split the male that Tomas had battled but he would have none of that. He claimed that, absent Taipan's arrows to slay the beast, it would have mauled him to death in short order. The beef from Ulric's hunt prior to the Legranel's arrival was heaped upon the great wagon, cooked beneath the dirt for preservation, and added to the group's shared provisions, a deal that favored the two visitors greatly on account of they were now some six hundred kilometers since their last resupply.
Ulric considered that a wagon may not be an awful idea if they were going to keep accumulating spoils from murderous godsdamned animals trying to eat them along their journey. For now, he took up the harness of the sled while Taipan assumed guard duty. Her stellar senses were far better employed scanning the environment for threats than being wasted pushing a sled. The exercise would do him some good too, Ulric had done little since the night of the battle.
A quick status check showed that the manaburn was gone but his health and stamina still had only recovered to the mid-eighties, their complete recovery hindered while that affliction was present. The heightening of himself that came from his core becoming saturated with mana was in full effect though and Ulric knew full recovery would come that day on the move.
A thin whip cracked, the report sending those massive-shouldered oxen into motion. Joclyn and his aunt manned the driver's seat of the wagon. The Jorn plainsfolk, still slightly frail as they healed, were ordered to look out positions atop the cargo. Ulric leaned into the harness and handles of his burden and drove his legs, feeling the effort of initiating the pull, reveling in the power of his reforged body. Never would he take for granted the gift of these uncrippled legs, the strength and agility, the ease of motion. To haul this sled was a joyous thing to him now. Too much of a good thing could wear at his pleasure, of course, but, for the coming leagues he'd enjoy the vigorous exercise.
As well he found satisfaction in the work, there was plenty of it to come. These sprawling plains went on and on, all the horizons presenting nothing but more of the same. Distant pillars of smoke had faded while the group convalesced but the plainsfolk seemed to know where they were headed so Ulric put it out of mind and made the wagon before him the only beacon he needed, for hours on end.
Nothing of note interfered with the journey. Taipan circled the miniature caravan, reporting alls clear periodically. Occasionally, she would fall back to walk alongside him, the pair enjoying one another's presence. Every couple of loops his Shadow would hassle him by taking a brief rest in the cart. She wasn't tremendously heavy, and wasn't being a serious detriment. It gave his prickly lass a brief bit of fun as she just enjoyed the moral superiority of making him into her donkey for a few minutes. Given that the former Iriel'en princess was still, mostly, holding to her role as a form of lifelong indentured servant, Ulric wasn't going to complain if she took a load off for a bit. Honestly, he owed her more than a little break time. She'd kept the both of them alive more times than he knew, just by the act of being there to guide them through the untamed forest tracks of her homeland.
The long kilometers of endless, endless, plain gave Ulric time to do what he always did when engaged with monotonous, repetitive, action: wind aimlessly through the corridors of his own brain. In particular, he felt like he'd come to some kind of revelation about, not just the Aes'r but, perhaps, all the peoples of this world: It was fine to just fuck.
Taipan's near invitation of the rather straightforward interest of Prenya had thrown him off, as had the open and unencumbered attitudes of the Elves about sex in general. He hadn't quite put the disparate facts together until now but likely the explanation had to do with Vardan biology. Many of his own society's hangups, the bronze-age religious ones aside, had come about as a form of protective mechanism to avoid untimely pregnancies, a dangerous thing for much of the species' history. Aes'r didn't have any such concern. They weren't like humans, suffering regular heats and monthly periods of fertility, Taipan had told him an Elf female only had a week every two years in which she might conceive. Unintended pregnancy wasn't such a big deal when it happened with so little frequency. Perhaps, given the average life span of these fair folk it roughly averaged out, but that meant that, day to day, it just wasn't an issue.
In addition to the low rate of fertility, there was the far, far reduced instance of problems in childbirth. Various cuddling conversations following their evening amusements had revealed that complications during birthing were nearly unheard of, amongst any of the sentient races. Hell, even the foaling of thousands of herd beasts only rarely resulted in a turned calf or stillbirth. The creatures of Varda were far more robust, almost engineered for success.
This also meant that the instance of sexually transmitted disease was about nil, immune systems of the complex organisms handled infection to the point that Ulric had to wonder if their cores didn't have some sort of magical assistance, just burning away foreign agents by force of concentrations of mana. It wasn't exactly impossible, given the other bits of natural thaumaturgy he'd witnessed. The only time he'd even heard of infection being an issue was when he'd lost the majority of his hide, after that cock-ass pyromancer had blown him up. That had been coupled to severe depletion of his core, as he'd used all the arcane oomph available to him to kill the mage before he'd incinerated the greater part of that floor of Irielhos. Other than that, however, disease was uncommon. Sano mages being able to deal swiftly with any that arose put the kibosh on infectious pathogen vectors, and Vardan pharmacy used some kind of wickedly potent, heavily magical antimicrobial plant extracts that rather aggressively dealt with whatever microbes might linger.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
All in all, if you take random pregnancy, risky birthing, and disease off the table, there isn't much reason not to engage in a little routine slap and tickle. That explained the societal differences between the people of Varda and his old world pretty well. In short, procreation wasn't a big deal, wasn't a limiting factor so there was little reason not to get in there and take some batting practice. Metaphorically.
Socially, there was a more obvious difference between the Aes'r tribes and his old civilization: Elves simply didn't care about the same things that Humans did. He didn't know why but there was little in the way of jealousy. More problematic had been the too-forward nature and the way that Elves made things into competitions, into status or power plays. The overly aggressive propositions of some were clearly intended as a way to incite a rival or to lower their respect in the eyes of the others by making these advances in deliberately public spaces, which was why Taipan had insisted that Ulric would end up killing a few people who crossed the line. Which he had, so, you know, good job there Nostradamus.
His dissertation on Vardan Habits of Fucking was interrupted when a whipcrack announced the end of the day's journey. Oxen brought the great wagon to a slow stop, bleeding away the momentum of the heavy load to stand seemingly unaware that they'd just marched for almost twelve hours uninterrupted. Those beasts might be going at a ponderous rate, but they could do it until the suns went cold, like a low gear mechanical Hauler from his old world.
Ulric's own much lesser load rolled easily to rest and, standing there harnessed, passing his eyes across a sensational sunset, reds, blurring into violets across the horizon, he realized he was warm. Not only comfortable but actually warm. The Winter had, at last, broken, it would seem.
"I'm pretty sure we're about done with the cold, little lady." He called to his partner in crime.
She jogged up from her latest reconnaissance and stretched languidly before her hands spoke the gesture "Finally" and her ears twitched cheerfully. Indeed. Vardan Winters were long affairs.
No Haven was there at this stopping place, the Roost would, according to the natives, push on through the night, guided by a late shift. They wouldn't stop until they had reached the Haven that would become the site of the coming Moot, a gathering of Roosts. Instead, the somewhat eclectic group of travelers would scrape back a clear spot for a fire and shelters. Ulric wasn't looking forward to having to dig through more melting slush to find the lovely bon biscuits they'd be burning.
His worries were unfounded, the Legranel were professionals at traversing these yawning velds. They had packed inside a large chest a large number of the processed vegetation packets. Joclyn had a cheerful little conflagration shedding heat, light, and the smell of sage in short order.
Ulric was glad there were no hard feelings there and even gladder he hadn't had to kill the young Elf. Young men got a little uppity from time to time and needed one of their older brethren to settle them down some was all. At a tender age of fifty-seven the Elf just needed some time to mature and find his place as an adult in society. That, and to learn not to pick fights with strangers who may or may not have murderous instincts whispering in the backs of their heads and a freakish gift for wielding infinite power.
He pulled the hide shelter's components free of their bundle, and jammed the poles hard into the grassy soil, already softening thanks to the thawing weather. The crossing tops of the poles lashed together courtesy of a sort of lasso and slip knot that Brighteyes had shown him way back when he'd helped the kid return to his people. That technique turned out to be one of the last lessons the lad received before his kidnapping and sort of bittersweet moment shared between the two; Brighteyes had watched a dear friend, the son of his trainer, murdered by his captors that day.
As he cinched the last knot holding the hide in place around their travel shelter, calling, "Done!" Taipan pulled up with their packs and immediately disposed of those inside. They'd have to do something about the floorspace. It was roomy enough in there when it was just the pair of them but when Prenya added herself things got a little tight.
Er. Well. Go ahead, you're all thinking it, it's fine, just get it out of your systems.
Besides, it's no worse than the lascivious mutterings of his Shadow, who had won herself some kind of rewards from the blithesome girl after their game of knife juggling. Ulric hadn't been involved in those discussions or his opinions on the matter asked and had decided, conjuring such wisdom as he was able, to let Taipan do all the talking. That strategy was thus far working and the engineer's creed was "If it is not broken, do not fix it."
A brief survey of the doings of the rest of the travelers showed they'd gotten their damned near luxurious canvas yurts set up in the time it had taken him to get the hide shelter lashed together. Damn. Maybe he'd trouble somebody in the Roosts to sell him an upgrade. He had very possibly underestimated the challenge of crossing half a continent whilst sleeping in a teepee.
Horses were more trouble than they were worth, given that the things seemed to draw predators, of which they'd attracted aplenty thanks very much. Be that as it may, perhaps a couple of those oxen to pull a wagon were not completely out of line.
Ulric spread the bedrolls and made room for a firelay, a small one, meant for shedding a chill rather than cooking, and Taipan hung roped a series of lines along the teepee poles to that items could be hung instead of occupying the floor, an innovation that she had long ago added to grant them more space within the interior. Humming, he exited the shelter to scoop snow for water as he continued to consider the adjustment of their conveyance.
It made sense, even as only a temporary measure while crossing the plains. Between his own foraging and outdoorsmanship and Taipan's far greater skill at the same, they'd lived off the forests pretty easily, even through the bleakest season, but these plains just demanded a different mindset. There was too much open fuck all to hope that you might get between resources without carrying more of them along with you. Carrying more shit meant more effort doing it and, while Ulric was not a man to shy away from some exercise, they were approaching the limits to his capacity without slowing greatly their pace.
The Legranel were similarly busying themselves about the myriad tasks of making a camp, the sort of doldrum that fades into the background of existence on the move. He imagined setting up cooking tripods, grill grates, and rotisserie spits was akin to the professional corporate slug who flew from place to place selling horseshit that didn't matter all day only to check into yet another hotel room. Discarding that comparison, Ulric continued to assess the established system he and his Shadow had used to make their way all those kilometers from Irielhos while mindlessly carrying out camp chores.
It really did need to be him doing the donkey work, he told himself. Strategically, it simply didn't make sense to overburden his Amazon Huntress humping gear, she was far too valuable scouting and securing their road. They'd need to spend a bit of money, but, what was money to him? He hadn't needed it until they'd hit Seinajok and his Shadow had revealed a, for once, less loathsome prank played by her father in the form of an astronomical dowry. Fitting, perhaps, for the daughter of the [Lord of the Deep Wood], and entirely unexpected. So, sure, spend the resources to acquire a short-term benefit that almost certainly wouldn't be a total loss and made their travel both safer and more comfortable? Sign my ass up, concluded Ulric.
According to the eventual course they'd planned, they would come to the inland sea that virtually split the continent, great Vatyn, at which time they would be mostly voyaging by sea routes. Until that time, however, it was all savannah, tundra, heathland, and prairie, forever and ever. A wagon and a larger shelter might sell their cover story a little better anyhow, the folk of these lands were already looking askance at two travelers braving the wilds carrying nothing but packs and a ghetto sled. Okay, he'd just about talked himself into some revisions on their adventure method now. They could sell the wagon once they got to the port city.
Not that he'd likely see it any time soon, but his lovely wife informed him of a near to endless forest of evergreen trees that dominated the Northern Wastes, a land of brief summers and days that held either constant day or constant night. Ulric had always wanted to experience the Taiga that had prevailed over much of the Asiatic continent but it had suffered greatly during the collapse, a surprisingly frail ecosystem that could not withstand the rapid shifts in climate. There had also been the nuclear weapons. Yeah, those hadn't done the place any favors. In any case, maybe when this shit was over they could take a nice boat ride to the place known as the White Waste and see these coniferous forests as well. A nice world tour to celebrate. In an easy-going wagon with a nice big yurt that let them do it in a cozy fashion. Definitely bookmark that Glade Chief, he told himself.
The daydreaming ended when he was poked and he attended supper, arm in arm with his lass. They were both due for a haircut. He could use a shave as well. Post burning, Ulric was all about that clean if rugged look. Viggo Mortensen could eat his heart out.
Many curious glances had accompanied the use of his clearly wooden cook pot on the cookfire, from the Iriel'en and now from these Legranel. They soon realized he wasn't adding to the firewood when it easily brought water to a boil and saw that the blackened bottom was entirely due to the char of the coals it lay on, not the pot itself burning. It would, eventually, catch flame, but only in a serious rager of a fire. The modest flame of the Legranel's dung castle didn't come close.
"Great Blue Skies! What kind of tree makes lumber that doesn't burn?!" Exclaimed Hild, wincing as she got a little too excited.
Ulric couldn't help a little smugness. The [Steelwood] was a particular variety of tree unique to the Ancient Glade, his distant home. Strong as mild steel, resistant to flame, durable beyond belief, and lighter than a similarly sized hardwood, it was a purely miraculous timber. Also an absolute cast iron bitch to cut, having required tools made of the bones of the [Forest Lord] driven by strength above what an average Human could muster. The peoples of his old world would never have been able to work the [Steelwood] by hand, more like a machine shop.
He was all too glad to tell them it was a discovery in distant wilds and that he could procure more of the same if they would be interested in trade. They voiced unanimous enthusiasm at that suggestion. Ulric suppressed an inner dry washing of hands and an evil giggle, his empire of small goods was growing! Not that he'd ever consider cutting the trees, but he'd gladly plant an orchard of them to grow into eventual sustainable harvest groves. It was a long term project, but that was fine. Either he'd have a stable source of income in the future or a lovely little [Steelwood] grove to enjoy.
"Taipan, do your kin import saplings of particular types of highly sought trees to plant harvestable groves?" He inquired of his Shadow.
She nodded, a bit caught off guard by the seeming randomness of his question, though she quickly caught on to the direction of his thinking.
"This is a thing that is done, yes. These are kept isolated however, and must be tended closely to prevent the uncontrolled spread of those trees into the surroundings. Sometimes foreign pests or invasive accompanying molds or blights can come along with them. The grove tenders are careful in their work with cloistered boskage. You are considering the future of your hold then?" She replied.
"I am." Ulric admitted in a low whisper, "If we are lucky, we might finish our tasks and I would like to dream of a stable, peaceful life. Adventure is fine, and your company makes it finer, but I miss the solitude of the glade often and would like to return to it."
Speaking of the desires he'd held in his heart brought them more to the forefront. Necessity had driven Ulric far from home. Whether it was another side effect of the connection that had bound his existence to the Plateau or just good old-fashioned homesickness and a hermetic disposition, Ulric knew a persistent longing to be back in that fae clearing, bordered by the towering boughs of the [Godtrees].
Taipan smiled at his tendency to hide himself away, she had come to know well how much he enjoyed quiet repose in the wilds. They shared that joy and had enriched it for one another.
"We will return when you choose, Ulric, I have bound my path to yours. If, when you have satisfied yourself with this current journey, you wish to go farther abroad that will be grand. If, instead, you desire the embrace of your chosen land, then that too, will be a worthy course. It isn't every day that a new nation rises from the wilds of Varda." She told him in hushed tones.
"Someday then." Ulric told her softly, with assurance.
"Someday." Taipan echoed in return, resting her forehead against his.
They held that posture a moment, before Joclyn's voice rang out clear and serious.
"I feel I must offer apologies to you both again, for my words and actions earlier. Clearly, the two of you are closer than business partners and occasional bedmates. It was rude for me to imply otherwise." The young Herdrider apologized earnestly.
"They are nearly as bad as our Jorn comrades with their incessant snuggling and cooing, aren't they?" Noted Dais'e, but with a smile to indicate it was a jest.
Tomas patted his wounded partner on the leg and took up the defense, "You may bask in your envy as much as you like. Some of us make the road less a chore and more a holiday." He chastised in a good-humored tone.
"Who could blame them, anyhow?" continued his mate Hild addressing her partner as if in a loud false whisper, "The Valin performs with commendable vigor, if the cries of Prenya and his notoriously hard to please Iriel'en are any evidence. Perhaps, if you Isevori' would ask nicely he might teach you some of the tricks."
Ulric joined the banter, "I make no claim to secret knowledge, only attention to detail and enthusiasm."
Taipan's lilting call claiming "Oh yes, my details are most enthused. Repeatedly and thoroughly." garnered a round of laughter from the group.
In that manner, Joclyn's embarrassment was shed and the party enjoyed a bit of levity in what had turned out to be rather an odyssey than a routine homecoming.
The mead jug had been emptied the night of the [Amberfang] ambush, but sobriety had done little to dim Prenya's ambitions. Ulric was now certain his Taipan had conquered the woman. He wasn't entirely certain what to make of that, but it only took a moment to consider it purely a boon. Multiple partners wasn't really his gig but if it put a smile on Taipan's face he'd endeavor to impress. So long as it wasn't another man. Otherworldly beautiful or not, he had very definitely heterosexual attitudes and that was that. His predilections on that front were, by all evidence, a non-factor, the lass had not twitched in response to any of the males of her own breed. Uldin had once commented something to the effect that his adoptive godchild took lovers too infrequently.
Thinking of the incredibly buff Elf, who preferred men and had used that preference to tease Ulric relentlessly, put a smile on Ulric's face. That confidant of Bald'rt had laid a might good fucking with on him once upon a time and had then done the same to Taipan, at Ulric's behest. He suddenly found himself wishing the Iriel'en good luck.
Spring's arrival meant that war would begin in earnest. As much as he was want to live in the moment, part of him couldn't help but chafe that the delays to this wayfaring quest meant that the mission of decapitating Prosper's warmongering front was unlikely to be completed before Aes'r lives were lost.
Nothing for it, Old Man, Ulric told himself, forcing himself out of such gloomy ponderings. We're going to see about resupplying here at this Moot and then we'll be closer to crossing the border into Prespang than ever we would have by wandering around the plains on our own until we found a Roost. Once we're into Prespang, we'll make way to Vatyn and, from there, a fast ship will have us within reach of Prosper in short order.
Satisfied that what could be done was being done, Ulric returned to the lively conversation happening around the camp.
Razzing jests, stories of far striders, and more circled the hazy flames of the travelers' temporary Haven, well after the reds of sunset had bled into a cloudless night, the great moon overhead laying silver light on the prairie below. Ulric found the bewitching reflection of moonlit snow, the dance of flame, and the chatter of fairy folk hypnotic. He was asleep where he sat and only roused when Taipan indicated that she was ready to make for her bedroll. He trailed along as the siren song of her rolling hips led him towards their teepee. A nude Prenya prone on the fur floor shocked him to stillness briefly but Taipan had already gone to extract her "punishment" for the game that morning. Ulric shook his head ruefully and closed the flap behind him.
"In der Gegenwart." He whispered, before undressing to join his mate in her play.