It was nearly done - the only thing left to do was widen narrow mouth of her den into a yawn, and then Szymon would be able to come inside and see the home she'd made for them. She hadn't shared her plans, as of yet, but Doe knew that he wouldn't say no. Not to her. Even if he was a little hesitant at first (this, she expected), she'd bring him around. Shove him in there and force him to endure her love.
A wide, yawning grin stretched across her face as she scraped her long nails against the curve of the entrance, adding a few finishing touches to smooth out the groves she'd made. The roots of the pampas grass were now hanging from her ceiling, but she rather liked that. It wouldn't hurt them, and it added the pungent smell of the root to their little home, where it mingled with the other scents she'd filled the place with. Sweet, old meats. Sharp, sour lemongrass. Bitter oil from an oleander bush - and she'd have to remember to warn Szymon away from that, and let him know not to lick her when she smelled like it.
Finally satisfied with her work, Doe stood back and called
@Szymon's name-sound
It was not his name-sound that had struck the air, but it had still drawn the titan forward with a curious intention. While the great beast had set up his own den far from the location of the others, he had come to know the scents of the witch doctor’s home as they had lingered on her coat. The leviathan had had many a meeting with the slender woman, but he had found his youngest sibling’s scent to be heavy on her pelt. The inky-ribbed Cairn had been absent, from what the dark brute could tell, but still present in the bay. While he was not a creature of vast intelligence, he was still perturbed by the thoughts that plagued him in regards to the flighty woman and his pallid sibling. It would not be long before their scents were intermingled and he could not tell them apart. Skellige could not understand how a witch doctor could draw Szymon. He was seeking answers from the girl.
Drawing closer to her home, the inky creature drew his skull upward and peered at the girl. “Not the Cairn you were expecting?” he inquired with a stern expression.
Turning, Doe prepared to welcome Szymon with as much pomp and fanfare as she could muster - which was a lot. But the figure padding through the sand was not her love, but her Leviathan. Doe's tail, operating on its own accord, quickly went from sixty to zero, slowing as her lord drew near. It was not that she did not like to see the man; any visit from the dark, silver-ribbed wolf was a blessing. Any, but... but she knew that it was time. Time to speak to him about her true desires.
As he drew near, Atoll dipped her head in deference, wincing at his bland observation. No, my lord, but you are the one I should have expected. This is long overdue.
"I called for your brother," she acknowledged, resisting the urge to prostrate herself before him. "But your presence is always welcome. And... I do have something I've been meaning to talk to you about."
Her head dropped lower, hanging down past her shoulders as the weight of the moment fell upon her. In the next few minutes, her fate would be decided for her, and there would be no going back. Truly, Skellige was a fine wolf, a good and noble leader. If he did not wish her to have Szymon, she would honor him. But it would hurt to have the pale Cairn boy forever out of her reach, free and unattainable but taunting her with his nearness. He might never be her lover, her mate, her hunting partner. Today, she would find out.
The flagging of her tail was drawn to a halt as she turned and caught sight of him. The wraith did not change his expression upon seeing her. It seemed as though she was not as pleased to see him as she would have been to see the paler version of him. Still, he held her gaze with his own burning russet optics until she spoke to him. There was honesty there, that she had been calling for Szymon, and he did not bother to press that any further. It was not until she continued her speech that he found himself relaxing more. He could not doubt her; if the sea king began to doubt the one creature who could communicate with the mystics, he would be forsaking his culture. Instead, he gazed at her with an expectant stare and lifted his skull so that he would loom over her figure. There was a reason he was considered a titan in his home, and it was not because of his silent nature.
The fur along his neck and shoulders bristled slightly, but he made work of peering around at the things that she had used to decorate her den. The scents that wafted through his nostrils were familiar but also foreign to him; he had breathed them in before, but had never known their true use. Locking his vision on the assortment one last time, he pulled his gaze away from those things and locked his eyes once more on her face. “I am here now… so tell me,” he probed with raised brows. There was an expectancy there, on his features, and he would not depart until she had revealed these things to him.
Atoll let herself shrink from the intensity of his gaze, lowering her belly to the floor and looking up at him with a wet, entreating gaze.
"I am sworn to carry your burdens, Skellige," she said, managing to keep the shake out of her voice.
"I and my body are at your command; I will do as you say."
There, her throat stopped, her voice torn from her by sorrow strong as the crashing waves. She didn't
want to give him the choice, and yet, the choice was already his. She was at his mercy, and she could either
choose to grant him that power, or else have him take it by force. Atoll or not, the Leviathan would always be supreme.
So let not my will, but your will be done, she thought, plagued by misery but unwilling to fold. This had always been the way of things. In her old pack, she'd been happy to give herself to the alpha. She
would have been happy to give herself to Skellige.
"But... I have grown very fond of Szymon," she sighed, her words coming haltingly, this time.
"I beg your favor in this; and your blessing to take him as my mate - if you have no other plans for me."
And if he did have plans, Atoll would abide. He had been
good to her. So good she couldn't comprehend it, sometimes. The favor with which he'd already showered her made her feel ungrateful and churlish as she asked for yet another gift. For the man's own brother, in fact - a far more precious thing than rank or title or this home he'd provided for them all.
But I have to ask. How can I not?
Silently, Atoll watched the face of her master, waiting for his judgement.
The titan scoffed, almost coldly at the concept of the small witch doctor carrying his burdens. He had been loaded with them since he was a young child, and he doubted that she would be able to carry even an ounce of what was placed upon his shoulders. There were many things that the witch doctor did not know of him, but he was not prepared to share such things so openly and willingly with her. While he had a great deal of trust for the witch doctor, he did not see himself confiding in her the trials of his life and of his past. While many of those things had led him to that particular point, he could not open himself to share them. So instead, he scoffed at the idea of her carrying his burdens. It might have seemed an awful gesture to make to one so willing to do his bidding, but he was – in the end – a foul creature.
The girl went on to speak of her feelings for Szymon, and for a moment, the titan was caught off guard. He had always found a soft spot for the youngest Cairn, but he had never imagined his small brother finding love in his life. In fact, Skellige was not certain that he could even feel anything akin to love. So, he peered at the witch doctor with a cold expression on his dark features, wondering how Szymon felt about the citrine-eyed girl. They had spent a great deal of time together, that was certain, and the leviathan could understand how they would form a close bond with all that they had been preparing for. There was still a burning in his gut at the question that had fallen from her lips. She wanted to take the ink-ribbed boy as her mate.
Bristling slightly, the swarthy brute found himself growing agitated, and he did not wish to be so with the witch doctor. Forcing his heart to slow the race of its beat, he furrowed his brows and exhaled a breath that carried a heavy weight. “I am not pleased that you would deem it necessary to ask me this,” he growled quietly, “when the blessing of our lands is the only thing that should weigh heavily on your mind.” The yellow of his fangs snapped together at the end of his statement, and he shook his head twice before pulling the dark russet of his gaze away from her.
Those days were important and it was infuriating for the man to think that his witch doctor and brother had been whittling the time away with their sharing of emotions. Though he did not know the details of their feelings or when they had come to light, Skellige had found an awful taste in his mouth. The Cairn family was a selfish group of savages. Just as he found himself thoughtlessly obsessed with the sacred blessing that was to fall on their land, Szymon had found his own self-interest in his attraction to Doe.
The horror unfolded quickly and without the option of escape. Atoll watched as her master's expresison changed before her eyes, became openly hostile and clearly displeased - something she'd previously never seen directed at herself. A feeling of hopelessness snuck into her heart in the presence of his ire. She had angered him, and his anger was righteous. Little moments flickered through her mind, standing out in sharp relief in the way that hindsight always allowed. Atoll had been lazy, preoccupied, unprodutive. Although she'd done her best to prepare for the blessing, could they ever really have too many rocks? And had she spoken to the sea enough to know exactly what to do, or had she been content to rely on the moment to lead her?
The woman despaired. She had failed her master, and she did not know whether she could stand it if he were to cast her from his sight.
Falling low, she shut her eyes against the power of his judgement. "I will not make the mistake again," she said lowly, fervent in her repentence. "I will focus on my task, my lord."
Atoll did not ask for forgiveness - she did not deserve it. Though her love for Szymon was great, her devotion to Skellige was greater still, and she had lost sight of the fact in the excitement of her feelings for the pallid male. Now, though, she would rectify that situation - if only her lord would allow it.