wintersbane wakes before the sun rises — customary to him always, but renewed with the expecting mothers. he walks the borders in the witching hours, strengthening the scent markings while it's still cool and the sun has yet to rise. when it begins to crest the horizon, casting a spill of golden buttery rays upon the land, he seeks out the herds in neighboring territories; making mental notes of their grazing patterns and where they appear to favor nesting for the night. thus far, they appear to favor qeya river — which brings with it no real surprise.
he catches what he can by himself and adds it to the caches in a regaled effort to stock up though prey is plentiful.
he lingers in the beginning of the glacier melt where it feeds into the qeya river and takes a deep drink, cleaning himself of the blood of his recent kill, freshly buried in the nearest cache.
wintersbane recognizes the scent that wafts off zephyr in a way that he wished he didn't; muscles pulling taunt beneath his feverkissed coat as his body instinctively reacts to the pheromones upon the air. rationality finds him — briefly — and fills him with the worry of betrayal. he wanted children, yes; a legacy but where does he draw the line? where does he stretch it too thin and become careless? why was there a slight fear; a flash of ice, that he was betraying?
betrayal could only be done if he was married and as he made his stance on it clear over and over again there was no one he was betraying.
yet, it lingers like a nagging buzz in the back of his mind all the same.
yet, as zephyr's throaty whine shatters the quiet trickle of meltwater, the soft creak of ice as it began to splinter apart, the tundrian tucks it away. knowing that he was never one to resist the sirensong of estrus.
wintersbane returns with a low rumble; given to lust like it is his patron deity and he the apostle chosen. he drifts nearer, silently seeking permission with each ghosting step forward.
i figured i'd wrap with this post & start us a new thread. <3
at some point, without wintersbane noticing his mind quiets, guilt and consequence hushing to silence as instinct burns like fire in his veins, and instinct hooks its unforgiving and unyielding teeth into him.
zephyr invites him closer; giving him the consent he seeks with tentative touches. wintersbane wastes no time diminishing the distance between them given the permission he sought and takes zephyr into his embrace to stoke and soothe the fires the season had evoked in them both.
fade to black