Dawnlark Plains nothing good ever happens at the goddamn thirsty crow

Livin' it up
You can have it all
Pull more women than any two men or train can haul
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one step, two, three, and four. he found himself counting paces lately, walking the borders, trying to keep his mind focused on something narrow and mundane, rather than the range of salacious subjects that had haunted his brain as of late. one step, two, three, and four. never the total number, just every four beats, a constant mantra. hawkish eyes raking the plains.

aditya's initial plan was to avoid his mate, after what he had seen, but his conversation with alarian had changed his mind. things became better with words, not actions. words, in an ideal world, were well-thought out; actions were mindless machinations of the body, going on instinct. actions had set fire to their union, and he hoped that words could douse it with the rain it so desperately needed.

he didn't know what his goal was. surely, nothing would ever be the same between them? why should he come crawling back to her, rather than turning his nose up and walking away for good?

because he was a fool in love with her, that was why. he so desperately loved her that he'd shelved so much for her sake, and he wasn't about to let her go, even over this. he hadn't seen her since it had happened; god, he didn't even know if she knew he'd seen it happen. but he had--and he had the right to address it.

ignoring the warning bells ringing in his ears--clearly sent by the ghost of grayday, urging him not to tie down his free-spirited daughter--aditya howled for @Dawn, a low, keening note on the wind. he stood near the eastern border, near the maplewood, with a hollow gaze, an empty, twisted stomach.

she had sinned. . .but he had done so, too. it was time for them to grapple with the ugly truth of it all.

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But my baby, she does something way more impressive than the Georgia Crawl
She blackens pages like a Russian romantic
Gets down more often than a blowup doll