She could not stay in the vale. She felt as if she were on fire and the only way to satiate that fire was to move, so she climbed to the neighbouring Sunspire and down, in to the valley again. She had half a mind to track down Mal, for some reason; he had been in good health during their last rendezvous and even though she had been surprised to find him there, his face - and his body - would not leave her memory. After a half-day hike Ibis had a choice to make: veer north in to the empty plains, or west to the meadow. In the end it would not matter - she needed to move, feel the wind in her fur, and find some space to breathe. Little did she know that the burning in her skin and this need for contact - and her attraction to Mal of all people - was driven by the season and nothing truly rational.

wintersbane scouts the land below the sunspire, beneath the watchful loom of the sawtooth. searching for the missing agana while young astraeus is left to the care of wylla to feed. why, wintersbane doesn't know. to plead for her to come back? to chase her off and tell her to never return? part of him hopes he doesn't find her. so that he could claim guardianship of what he feels will be the closest thing he will come to a child of his own this season. the brewing jealousy he feels at wylla and mahler's cubs ...at the women bearing cubs within their wombs that are not his — it grows stronger even if it strikes him as uncharacteristic of him.

he surmises that agana is not out here — finds that he is neither surprised nor cares — when he is tempted from returning home by the perfume of heat; intoxicating. like a moth drawn to the flame he seeks its source out like a guided missile. he knows he should ignore it. he should turn around and return to his spire ...but he's always been weak.

it does not take him long to find her; cloaked in soft creams and tans. lovely. if wintersbane would be paying attention beneath the insufferable scent of her heat he might've recognized reiko's scent ...but as it is, her heat is all he can focus upon. his interest shows in the stalwart set of his shoulders, the curious glint of his glacial gaze, the sweep of his tail; it lives in the chuff to announce his presence to her.

It takes her longer than it should, considering her vocation, to meander towards the meadow. Her pace is lulled by the whimsical nature of her spirit; she finds herself attracted to the new buds lining the earth, or drifting among the reeds of grass as they stand tall - nipping playfully at some, even though it does not satisfy her. The grassy taste of the reeds is off-putting and so she stops with the playful antics, and begins pecking bird-like at the springtime blossoms -- gathering some of them in to a haphazard pile, then losing interest there too. The things that used to appease Ibis have become pedestrian.

That is when she hears the heavy steps of something - someone, maybe - approaching her position. The slightest cant of her little face, and she can see him hiking closer. This broad-shouldered behemoth of a man, draped in a bruise-coloured coat with the most intriguing dark-cap to his face. She finds herself staring, but cannot look away even as her cheeks grow flush; her belly, the fire inside of it, flares. Wordlessly, Ibis drifts towards him - she is a sprite, a tiny mote of dust besides this giant, and as dangerous as he might be something allays her deepest animal fears.

She just wants to be closer.

glacial gaze watches as the pale sylph draws nearer to him. she does not speak — no, wintersbane thinks, there is no need for words. not really. a breath is drawn and savored; tasting her perfume upon his tongue clamped betwixt sharp teeth, darting out to draw across his jowls. his muscles twitch. he wants to ghost towards her. it would be easy, he knows. to give into the pull of muscles wanting only to react to her sweet, cloying scent. if he were a different man betrayal might flit thru his mind like an accusation ... but his loves are long dead and he does not want to forbid himself what death has stolen from him time and again.

a cursory tilt of his head is given, eyes watching her as if she is an elegant ballerina upon the stage of the meadow they linger in. muscles thaw and a step forward is taken; a silent affirmation to a question she has not yet asked him: i want this. because he is no stranger to clandestine dances with strangers. because he is a king of the spire and he wants what his fellow co-leaders want. he wants it with burning envy and undiluted yearning even if it remains always and truly out of his grasp.

She is, deep down, too young for all of this. There is confidence in the way she moves borne of the hormonal changes in her body, in the freeing nature if the open expanse around them, but she doesn't know what cues to look for. He watches her and she feels her body burning; Ibis moves close and seeks contsct, drawing her tiny body beside his and then, like a cat in heat, presses her head against his chin and draws herself forward - unaware that she is settling in to position for him. The contact feels good. Thrilling. Her skin feels so alive - and she frisks her tail, a brief wag that fans her scent to him. Everything about her from posture to the hungry look she grants him over her shoulder is so open and accepting - pleading for him.

wintersbane's tail wags against his hocks, a shudder rippling down his spine like the slither of a mighty serpent as her body draws alongside his own, and she presses her head to his chin. a low, guttural noise of little else than want rumbles in his chest as she settles into position and invites him. glacial gaze sparks and glistens like ice caught in a burning sun as he accepts the invitation and moves nearer until his chest is pressed against her rump. here, her scent is untainted by anything else and his nostrils flare, drinking it in. he offers a teasing nip to the junction of her spine and tail and draws himself up along her, forelegs grasping her hips, belly against the elegant curve of her spine, bulk of his weight settling on his own back legs in an effort to not burden her as with a roll of his hips wintersbane finds himself to be exactly where he wants, where he needs to be.

Their size disparity is made more obvious when he aligns with her. He hoists himself across the small of her back and hooks her waiste, and Ibis is stunned by the weight of him, nearly crumbling. She braces against him, distracted from the game for a moment. Then, he pushes his hips in to alignment and everything melts - the intimate sensation of being united is strange at first, invasive, but the momentum excites her.

For such a quiet girl, Ibis is surprisingly vocal through their lovemaking; when it is finished, she wants to ask for more but is simultaneously too tired - and together they sink in to the blissful aftermath.

------

After, she feels no different than before. Warmer maybe, sleepy, and tied somehow to the giant of a man who lingers with her, but she doesn't know what to say. So far their tryst as been a wordless one; an intimately shared moment to catalyse Ibis' newfound womanhood. She parts from him with a shared soft look, a fondness previously reserved for family. A part of her wants to stay close to him (his plush coat, the musk they now shared) but she is uncertain, and draws away.

wintersbane is content to bask in each noise she makes beneath him during their lovemaking and then in the blissful satisfaction and silence that follows. he lives in the moment, in this moment with her — though he knows not her name — content to steal this fleeting warmth and happiness while he has it; as hades stole persephone. it will not last, he knows ...does not expect it to. when they can, they part ways. he watches her leave, a silent sentry ensuring that she isn't bothered ...at least until he can no longer see her. her soft look does not go unnoticed by him and he carries it with him as he returns to his skyward kingdom.