She wouldn't stray far from her mate while her mate was in need of a gentle touch. In fact, her own ribs were still painful. She was knitting up alright, but she wasn't one hundred percent better yet. Still, Soran had wanted to go to the mateship ceremony. Deuce could refuse her mate nothing, not after all the hell they'd been through to reunite. She squeezed the black furred womans hand gently. She wore a loose fit white gauze dress and her hoops, her white blond mane pulled back into a simple braid. They'd never really traded official vows. They'd fallen into old habits. Deuce and Soran shared a room, a bed. Deuce's room had become storage for the couple, the room where Deuce dried her herbs. The white woman wondered if her mate waned something like that.
Seeing Soran touch the ancient pentagram, Deuce smiled. There was no regret in the smile, only love. As the the leader led the assembled Dreamers in a howl, she lifted her voice alongside her mate and pack mates. Life was good, life was wonderful. The war was over, the pack at peace. Perhaps now the former Shaman could relax into a simple life, working on establishing herself once more as a healer. As her voice drifted off, she gave Soran a tender kiss. Her heart would forever belong to the sable woman.
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