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The Tangle The stick, the thorn, the briar - Printable Version

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The stick, the thorn, the briar - Fenix - March 21, 2017

Somewhere in the north, though not terribly far away at all, Razo Redefin was cursing the life choices of his beloved spawn. She had practically been his favourite until shortly before her first birthday when she had revealed that she simply couldn’t wait to romp her merry way away from home, and Razo still couldn’t decide whether to be put out or downright proud.
 
She was days away, then, and essentially a blazing beacon against the dull, rocky expanse of landscape she was picking her way carefully across. There was really no hiding here, and certainly a nil to zilch chance that she might be able to change gears at a moment’s notice, but she smiled astutely. Much like a lighthouse through a veil of fog, other ships might note the perils and steer clear into easier tides to avoid the sharp and unforgiving rocks that waited in the shallow tides — those that jutted, and those that would never advertise their presence. It was a good thing she herself had inherited those uncanny Redefin genes, and that she was all confidence to the point of arrogance and beliefs of invincibility. It was difficult to watch her sure and nimble steps, however, and not notice the light her movements shed on her entire outlook on life.

She was out to chart new lands and soak in all the experiences she could carry like a sponge carries water before it becomes saturated to excess. Fenix wanted to be like the sponge, and so unlike her dear father, whom she loved and would always love even with kilometers and vast lands of distance between them, she did not actively avoid the company of others. She sought them out. While the rocky, sparsely vegetated wasteland made it seem otherwise, it was actually the closest she could get to the packs she had sensed without treading so impolitely all over their doorstep. In the meantime, she fixed her gaze on a small body of fur that moved not far off to her right. She knew how to keep herself occupied.



RE: The stick, the thorn, the briar - Stud Muffin - March 22, 2017

He arrived from the north without fanfare, plodding across a deep valley at the foot of a glacier before following a cool, salty breeze in a northwesterly direction. He passed beneath a mountain and began to skim along the coast before the scent of a wolf pack made him freeze. The wolf licked his lips and waggled both his eyebrows and his tail, yet he decided against stopping and making any inquiries. He wasn't ready to face an entire pack. So he diverted to the south, picking his way through a rather brambly bit of thicket before another scent came to him, this time a solitary one. A female, he thought with a grin.

He stalked her through the brush. His eyes raked over her when he found her, glimmering with approval. Once he was certain she really was alone, he made a bold and forward approach. "Yo, baby, wassup?" He gave her his most winsome smile as he swaggered closer.


RE: The stick, the thorn, the briar - Fenix - March 22, 2017

She kept both keen yellow eyes trained to the fumbling, scurrying creature that floundered amid the rocky footing of her surroundings, watching it dart in front and then back to the right. She was statuesque, then on the move as quiet as she could manage even when the scent of an adult male wolf drifted into the fringes of her greedy awareness. While she had no indication that he had any intent to approach her she was committed in her efforts not to turn away and lose sight of the small mammal she hunted. Suddenly, however, she couldn’t put off noticing him any longer. He’d hunted her, and her unwitting prey had been made all the wiser. The tiny creature, no more than a morsel, had opted for flight.
 
With a quick turn of her head, she shot him a look and set him with a deadpan stare. He was physically sound, she surmised, and near to if not already in his prime. Fenix was absolutely horrid with guessing age, though, and for all she could really tell he was eligible to be her father’s age as much as he might have been a vernal frat boy.

She didn’t respond to his question. “You frightened my lunch,” she alleged with a frown that simply didn’t check out when her feathery tail began to wave behind her.



RE: The stick, the thorn, the briar - Stud Muffin - March 23, 2017

He rather enjoyed this breathless moment as he awaited her response to his pickup line. Some she-wolves grew wrathful, snarling and spitting at him. Others reacted more demurely, pleased by and preening under his masculine attentions. He could never guess how any particular lady might respond to his wiles. He always savored these brief moments of anticipation.

The stranger accused him of making her lose her lunch, then frowned at him. He reacted without missing a beat. "I'm sorry, baby, I'd be happy to hunt something fresh for you." As he spoke, his golden eyes trailed over her, trying to suss out her innermost feelings as read through her expression and the way she held herself. "Maybe after we get to know each other? If you know what I mean?" In case she didn't, he lifted and wiggled one eyebrow.

"Or," he guessed in the next breath, "are you the type of woman who prefers to be wined and dined first? I can get down with that." Now he was standing close enough that he could just barely feel her body heat. It was delicious, as was the sweet, feminine scent clinging to her pretty, velveteen furs.


RE: The stick, the thorn, the briar - Fenix - March 23, 2017

He ended up close enough to breathe on her through all his talk, which was about a league closer than she had thought she might allow him willingly. She wondered with a distinct air of skepticism if he would ever actually make good on his decided debt if she happened to oblige him in his wont, but he soon proposed a different sort of arrangement that prompted a raise to his wiggle (of an eyebrow, of course). Instead of balking, she rose to match him.
 
To his credit he was direct, but Fenix had no intention, much less inclination, to extend the same courtesy once she was struck by the thought of angling for something else. She had never done the thing he was after, she wasn’t in heat, and she was months away from reaching sexual maturity. She simply didn’t see the point to his advances, and imagined he was better off making them at someone who could satisfy the procreative facet of his fervour. He himself, however, in the peak of physical health and with none-too-shabby-looks to boot, would be a considerable ally if he consented to be so.
 
She twitched her sleek red ears at him as her eyes gleamed with what could only be construed as delight. “I really don’t settle for anything less than one of every animal and the severed heads of all my enemies, she said with falsely grave sobriety. “And I keep a running list, so you’ll have to check it twice.”



RE: The stick, the thorn, the briar - Stud Muffin - March 24, 2017

He loved women. He loved loving women and was often happy to put forth a bit of chivalrous effort to get in their proverbial pants. But he had limits, of course, as well as standards. They needed to be pretty and in good shape; no butter faces or fatties for him. This particular lady was certainly easy on the eyes, with lustrous fur and striking features. She also smelled ridiculously delicious. His mouth began to water as he regarded her, desire sweeping over him, but it all stopped rather short at her demand.

"Honey," he began, tone playfully scoffing, "you're hot but you're not that hot. How about I catch you one dead animal," the wolf reasoned, repeating his earlier offer, "and then I show you the time of your life?"


RE: The stick, the thorn, the briar - Fenix - March 31, 2017

Being young and relatively unscathed by the world of males and their desires for dominance and their wanton thrills for proliferation, Fenix hardly knew what had struck her in a blinding matter of seconds. Her eyes widened by a few millimetres as she watched him with some foreign feeling that unfurled closer to perplexity than it did to astonishment. It wasn’t just that she’d been wittingly dismissed as part of his plan to persuade her, either — dude wouldn’t even play along. Fucking rude.
 
There was a pristine little pause that developed between them as her gaze hardened a little, quietly restraining an entire fleet of choice remarks from surging through a seemingly calm surface, and she found herself squaring her ruddy shoulders as she looked him over. She managed to settle on tendering a fairly petulant, “Nah,” then blinked and moved to brush past him on deftly placed paws.