There were quiet years, to be sure. They lived for a winter up in the far, far north where the sun barely shone and revelled in the novelty of freedom from daylight. There were vampires, and they patrolled churchyards and kept an eye on what arrived at the docks, but mostly they rested, and slept, and discovered new things about each other.
He spent whole days just touching her, quiet, their breath catching and sighing in concert with the flickering of the aurora, lighting the room an otherworldly green. He found new ways to make her gasp. Their bodies fit one another as they always had, but they found that now they knew they had time, some of the urgency was gone and they could move slowly, rising and falling like the ocean.
World Enough, and Time by toooldforthis
