Wheeling Gull Isle maybe it’s not the moon at all

He had only several seconds of such bliss before it came screeching to a halt. At first the damsel did not resist and he leaned into the invitation fully; his tail cocked to the side and draped over her gamine hips, his hackles stirred as he became taller and sought to cloak both of them with his being, both acts rather possessive gestures in their own right and perhaps obscenely out of place here — not that the miasma of effeminate hormones would let him see that — but the inkdark harpy met his advances with a shriek. It was not the reaction he had sought.

“— stop!”

Not only that, but she turned her visage to him and struck hard, cracking against his crown with the side of her perfectly-crafted fang. Komodo grunted as his skull smarted and, as solid as an obelisk, steeled himself in the case that there were more kittenish affronts to follow. Komodo was not a trained warrior, but pain was rather sacrosanct to him; he had self-inflicted much worse than this, and thus he was quick to recover. What was also quick to recover was his surly irascibility, which jumped up and out of him in a mad sort of way, a way that he only felt when in the throes of chant and worship, or when he seek to sate his bloodthirst with a hunt. The brute imagined taking her right there, not with her blessing and not for her pleasure — just to simply dominate her and show her where the real power lie; with him, and with him only. 

The at which game she played — it was over. 

But in the end, Komodo did nothing; never would have done anything. His imagination played at fantasies that would never materialize: it was what allowed him to be a great shaman, but not necessarily the best realist. Beneath whatever this was [what he would soon realize to be Seelie’s season], the angaqquk had the utmost respect for the little doe-eyed creature and he knew he could not shatter the relationship they had… or, whatever was left of it. How could he serve her best if he were expunged from Undersea’s rankings — how was that the best outcome of this? What would it all have been for? With anger licking at his tongue, he restrained him and chewed the word before he let it roll careless off his tongue. “Whatever,” he said, eager to cut this interaction short and stop it where it was. Until he was able to pray, or cleanse himself, or sober up, their conversation should not move forth. Only bad things would come of it, he was certain.

Komodo did not wait for her to reply and incite him to further action. Even though the caves were, in essence, his dwelling, the man exited in a rush of mottled limbs and left the Aralez to the loneliness that she so sought.