Morning light breaks fully through the canopy, the clearing soft with the golden haze of dawn, dew collecting in silver beads along every blade of grass that managed to survive the clearing's demolition.
Lucien stands in the middle of it, humming contentedly to himself, whistling some half-remembered merry tune from a life that no longer technically exists anywhere but his own head, one arm lifted overhead, offering up each new patch of skin like he's a puppy getting a tongue bath.
Because that was exactly what was happening.
The Beast Mother, back now in her full wolf form, works her tongue slowly up one side of him and down the other, easily the size of a small house even at rest, tail lolling pleasantly from side to side with every sloppy pass.
