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He'd wait for as long as it took.Skogund wore the forest like a shroud. He was comfortable there; he'd never be this comfortable anywhere else. To the dark lion, the forest was where he belonged - and yet, despite that, she would come to him now and again, toeing through the thick underbrush merely to seek him out. If he was fae, she was beyond that - she was something ethereal, something without comparison. She did not need to explain herself, not to him.
He was spellbound.
In some strange way, he belonged to her in ways he would never belong to himself.
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