Silverlight Terrace i won't fight the fire, i feel the rain fall down

She teased him ever so subtly, the turn of her hip to brush against his cheek; if he had been bolder, the nature of their intersecting meetings more intimate, he would have given in to the temptation to touch her further. But instead her words only stretched his smile as she rounded back to him, silent as she traced his jawline with the point of her muzzle. Hydra did not linger there long, almost as though she could sense the coiling tension low in his belly; her parting from him seemed too soon, too swift.

It did grasp his attention all the same as she prattled on a decisive list, her particular items that charmed her so, the things she expected. He caught the tilt of her head, of those listening ears, and his gaze wandered along the curvature of her body once more.

"I thought my intentions clearer some time ago," he said, composing himself to tear his gaze away to look to Moonspear's jagged rise. "I do recall saying I was quite fond of your company, that I thought the world to be seen would be better with you in it." That exchange felt so long ago, almost otherworldly like the thundering beat his heart had been and felt. It did not pound away now as it did then; perhaps things had changed more than he realized, but in what way? She had always been so keen on ensnaring him to her precious mountainside, keen to play her game.

His gaze returned to her, unwavering.

"And then it was not long ago I offered you a place at my side, in the home I hope to make my own. I have since found such a place that affords me the chance for our paths to intersect, a place that provides comfort and security for the company I keep. But if it's trinkets you desire," he paused, a mirthful breath escaping him, "then I presume you are coming around to my offer as it still stands... or that I may lead you away with such." He sought then to close in that gap between them, rising to his full height with the sway of tickling grasses. He halted close to her, his muzzle reaching over her hindquarters in the handsbreath between them.

"Have I really not captured you at all? Not even the slightest part of your heart there to believe I would not fight for you as I have? I am no fairytale prince to champion, but I oft wonder if I could offer you the world and it still be not enough." To always heel and bend; he found the pinpricks of a hurt that echoed back farther than his want of her. Dirge wondered if perhaps that was her long con—to bend him until he broke. She was the pit viper here, after all, poised and waiting and watchful of his movements.