GAR
Gar's lion paced with him, anxious and urgent. The mate was scared. The mate needed protection.
He was forced to fight every natural instinct he had—to cover her, to put himself between her and the world, to demand to identify the threat, then remove it. He'd listened to his mother, her gentle way of offering comfort, all the reassurances of space and time, and he'd known, deep down, that she was doing it right. That this… distance was what Rika needed.
But then, as they got back to his tree and she'd been distracted, almost lost in thought—though he doubted Rika was ever unaware of her surroundings—her scent had changed. First he'd caught the edge of fear tumbling over hope. But then she'd started talking about being small, about her parents, her father's dominating behavior and its affect on her mother.
He'd understood in concept, if not in practice, what she'd meant. Tried to relate. And her scent had changed again.
Wonder.
