Qeya River maybe on the dark side, we could be together

Qeya River, before the Bypass! Just in that general direction. @Warbone

She followed the river and looked to the mountain range in the distance. Within her was a call she felt she must soon harken to, and a restless energy rose within her core. It was not Thuringwethil she was discontent with, but herself suddenly. It was a new feeling, and one she explored as she ranged on the river and stared into the distance with the intent of discovering what this calling was. It came unbidden, and perhaps unwelcomed. There was an impatient feeling brewing within her that made her aggression come in sudden, heavy waves. It was new and could not be restrained; another part of the reason she sought to detach herself, for the day, from pack life.

For the first time since leaving Sleeping Dragon, Warbone moved in a southeast direction towards his former haunt. Before this moment he had been a wolf hard-pressed to be attracted to his past, but Thuringwethil and Gyda and their wolves crossed his thoughts on occasion, and though he did not regret his decision to depart from them, he felt some indescribable way about the manner in which he had departed. His journey was not taking him to one of apology, but he toyed with the idea of explaining himself, or otherwise seeking to mend a relationship that had been certainly burned by the fire of his inherent arrogance.

Giving Maplewood an incredible girth, he wound up on the southernmost stretch of the river, looking at the distant Sleeping Dragon and immediately changing his mind. He might've gone back to the Willows, but across the always-frigid river was the cut figure of an onyx Amazon— and he knew her, even at this distance, even without the aid of her scent. Finding a leaner section of river, Warbone began to leap through the icy waters, crossing in a mass of sound and shining droplets.

She prowled on, but as the waterways were disrupted with the loud sound of anothers invasion, Sangilak turned 'round to face the thing. If it were a predator, she would need to decide quickly what it was she must do. But it was a familiar face, one she had not seen since the day Lucani had been on deaths doorstep. Sangilak stood rigidly before him, head and plume lifting evenly as she watched him, unafraid but intrigued as ever. She had not wondered at his leaving—that day the thought had came and went for her, too—but wondered at him being here before her now. Sangilak was torn between leaving the scene entirely, but her interest in him was greater than that, and so she headed toward him to meet him half-way to inspect what the river scents did not take away from him.

CRAPPY POST I SORRY THEY HOPEFULLY... WILL GET BETTER ...... I HUNGRY

The water was more chilling than he anticipated— unaware that these waters had bled from a long-ago melted glacier that had once held these lands in a stranglehold— and when he emerged on the other side, he shook himself immediately and felt an instinctive need to invigorate the freezing blood in his limbs. Sangilak drew up to him, just as impressive and unsubtle as he remembered, as he liked, and the two explored one another freely, unabashedly, pressing their noses where it was allowed. Warbone nipped her then, teeth grazing the fringe of her nape before he jerked away, seeking a chase or spar. Anything to warm his icy extremities.

Scents of new wolves were littered upon him, and Sangilak felt an irate possessiveness overtake her. Who, now, did he run with? As she felt his fangs brush her nape, Sangilak did not miss a beat in bounding the direction he went, the movement something like a reflex to her. Her own fangs sought to grip any bit of him they could, neither gentle nor rough to the point of bleeding him, before Sangilak wheeled away herself and took five hearty bounds away. She suspected he might follow, and if he did he would be met with more playful violence as she spun around quickly, for the moment in between lunging back in his direction or staying in place, a bow strung tightly in its quiver as she moved.

She responded in kind, bringing an excited burst of energy expand from his chest to his extremities as he attempted to dodge the woman's ungentle play, and then return her actions with similar force of action. His blood sang, calling his body after her, as they danced back and forth and then would meet head-on in wild jaw-sparring as they contended for an upper hand in the game. It was not like their initial encounter on Sleeping Dragon. A vast level of respect had already been established for one another, and this was more for his own benefit than anything else. Their violent play evolved in closeness, and soon the wolves were tearing rampant in the plains' midst, alternating between dominating the "play" of one another; and they rolled and struck and jumped and flew across the wilds until both wolves stood panting and regarding one another in a satisfied light to their parted muzzles.

This he had left on Sleeping Dragon, and Warbone realized he missed it without explicitly incurring the emotions to his thoughts. His limbs were no longer chilled, and he gave his great body a shake before giving her one last nudge to the spot just behind her cheek. Making sure she knew his pleasure with her.

He roused a sleeping giant within her. Sangilak romped roughly, but each step she took and ever blow she struck caused her to stand all the taller, until they were finished. She veritably glowed in his presence, panting loudly and watchful of him. His nose found her cheek, and she was unthinking as she returned the gesture with a bit more boldness, a bit more of need. An ancient primal urge was at play, and yet it was only in its approach and had yet to arrive. It would mark her a woman, this thing; but as she was not yet one, Sangilak also felt the need to take two steps away from him, a strange mix of bold and coy, recognizing the song but not knowing it; desiring the dance, and yet indolent.

The charge of the air shifted very marginally between them, but it was not a change that fell on the blind. Warbone felt an insistence to her touch, and he was similarly roused by an instinctive response to her actions that welled inside of him like a mushroom cloud. The severe lines of his face grew sharper as he watched every move of her coquettish dance, and for every step she took away from him, he pursued her. The dance went like this for the barest of moments, the fur at his shoulders rippling anxiously as he tried to mask the anticipation of earning something she might not have been yet ready to give. But their blood called to one another regardless, ignoring the laws of time and space as they began to battle once more— a deeper, far more connecting tango— as he sought to earn from her a prehistoric reaction to his virile manifestation.

The entirety of his body became rigid, inflamed by the nature of their game and the intention of winning it.