this feeling would persist for a while yet. zharille did not know; it was her first time experiencing the effects of adulthood and the season, but she did not think hard about it.

her time with khaba had been pleasant. now she lurked the lakeside wondering what else she might experience. a hunger had awakened within her - one which a traditional hunt would not satisfy - and here, out from beneath the rule of her mother's matriarchy, she was free to do whatever she wanted.

zharille crooned for the attention of her men; that's how she saw each of them: prideful, possessive, greedy over those she welcomed close.

A croon. A whisper. Osleya heard it clear as day. But as per its host, she found herself curious.

The time of pleasantries and lustful moments were upon the men and women of the wild. She knew this season, but had not yet cared to play a part in it, for none had truly captivated her. But she wondered if perhaps it would be this time or the next. Maybe even never, if that's what it came to.

Osleya drew close to a looming shadow of sable and sun. The eyes, immediately she adored. But the desirable beckoning for men brought caution to sprout in her chest. If this woman had aide nearby, an encounter may not have been plausible, nor rational. But this didn't yet stop her from pursuing. They could chase and bite at her all they wanted, for she too had strength on her side in more forms than one.

Closer and closer, she inched, careless to what the other may have to say of it. The itch for a whiff of their finely colored fur... to feel the warmth radiating from the one newly in womanly bloom. Perhaps even to taste the pain of her yearning. The lustfull and affectionate ones had not come, thus she was left to drown in euphoric pain.

The mountain woman fed off this as the distance broke, vying for more with each step. A masochist, some may call her, hardly ever with pure intentions. But everyone had their own way, whether twisted or sown straight. It was the natural rhythm of life. No matter how many eyes crossed and rolled in agitation, or how many lips quivered in fear and disgust, the world would not change to every mere whim. They were left with what they'd been given. A life in which they had to survive and draw the path for what future they were meant to lead.

Another wolf, a challenger, followed the scent of a receptive female. He had crossed no border, found no pervasive packscent, so it was with eager steps that Tarantula pursued his quarry. He heard her before he saw her, as she beckoned another, but this did not deter him from the instinct to claim a mate in the throes of his own dispersal.

From a distance, iceblue eyes finally saw them along the fringes of a frosted lake: a pair standing apart. One a hale, thunderous wolf of umber and tan, the source of his yearning, and the other a sable huntress, also desirable to his discerning gaze. The would-be usurper called to them then with a quiet, beseeching tone, announcing his intent, before descending towards them in a rollicking stride.

His head was kept just above his shoulders, nose stretched out inquisitively as he watched the larger she-wolf for her reaction towards him. Of course, he anticipated that the coalburnt wolf might become either a welcome participant or (more likely) a deterrent – keeping her in the corner of his gaze – but her presence was secondary to the one whose attention he sought to earn.

her boys were not readily available, so it seemed. perhaps they were hunting and bonding together - but still, zharille thought her scent alone would draw them. it drew someone: creeping closer, a stranger with a painted face. there was the scent of old blood which piqued zharille's interest some.

they were not alone. before long she noticed a grizzled silhouette, and as her eye caught upon this other figure she took notice of their gait, their posture. the closeness they desired, as they got closer with more interest than the other.

zharille rumbled a warning to them both, but it was a mixture of sounds. half warning, half wanting. this more bold wolf was reaching for her and appeared eager to seek her scents, and that pleased zharille in a way she would never be able to describe; there was something predatory about the second stranger, but the self-assured woman was not afraid.

she let him get closer, and let her posture slacken enough to be inviting.

Her advances were warned against, but it was not just she who received the low note. Another was with them. A man.

At first, Osleya figured this was one that the sable woman sought before. But by the woman's tone, this did not appear the case. He was a stranger to them both. But oh, how he favored the other over her! She wasn't quite sure whether to be offended or relieved. 

In either case, she certainly was not pleased that he had interrupted so carelessly, and she let him know this.

Teeth bared and breath fuming from flared nostrils, Osleya turned her back from the other woman, almost shielding her as she stared upon the man. He had now done one of the top tier acts to tick the bomb that was her patience.

When there was not a single snarl or screech rising against him in protest, Tarantula took the invitation (or rather the lack of a refusal) and strode forward, slowing the closer he came. They seemed to be as much strangers to one another as he was to them, which caused his own posture to loosen in readiness to acquaint himself with both.

His tail lifted, undaunted and waving, inviting their eyes to scrutinize him for any defects, deformities, imperfections. They would find none, he knew. For his coat was full, his body in its prime, and he thrived alone in the winter, making him all the more eligible for steep competition.

And though he was prepared to compete for the one whose scent drew him in, he did not know he would have to compete against another she-wolf. He tipped his head at the dark wolf’s sudden aggression, wary but not overly concerned. Certainly she was just put off at having her own investigation delayed, but he thought they could share. His ears pressed forward, and he looked towards the titaness behind her. Was this acceptable to her?

He held fast to see if the nightwolf would continue as she was; he was patient, he could wait his turn. But as that scent continued to flood his nostrils, the male felt a virile stirring in his gut and soon made to circle around the blood-marked wolf, careful to never turn his back to her. He angled himself to meet the young umber queen head-on, wishing to examine the true object of his desire up close and fearlessly.

the man was wary. the painted woman growled and showed her teeth, which set off a chain reaction within zharille; already heightened in sensitivity because of her current state, the attitude only brought out the more primitive aspects.

zharille shoved in close to the woman with her shoulders bunched and head up, with her chin tilted down defensively. she loosed a heavy warning note from the back of her throat, and gave a toothy grimace, to say back off.

if they had no use for the man, they shouldn't be here. it was zharille who controlled this moment now - and she would not take kindly to a potential partner being driven off. it appeared the man lurked regardless, and wisely kept the irate woman in his sights.

zharille's tail arced over her hips, and she threatened the other woman readily with that show of teeth.

The other woman did not seem to mind the man, for she was quick to ward off Osleya to get her fill of his attention. 

He continued his disregard in interest for her, instead circling to approach the other. All was done in caution, and both directed that target towards the blood painted woman.

Her lips settled, but her posture did not. Tensed still, refusing to shake either of them. As the man advanced further upon the sable one, Osleya hovered, watching their interactions curiously. 

Was this what it was like for a man to be attracted to a woman in her bloomed state? She could only learn by observance.

Tarantula only moved where he was permitted, knowing that he did not command either she-wolf or this interaction as a whole. The power belonged solely to the one in heat, and her scent began to fog his mind, loosening the shackles of his self-control. The male watched as she scolded the coal-pelted huntress for her intervention, the primitive reprimand stirring up his more primal nature.

Her actions only encouraged him further, enticing him to inspect her. Tarantula kept his head up and his dark chin tucked, defensive even in his bravery, as he sought to test the victress’ boundaries. First, he moved to meet her muzzle. Surely she would growl, but would she bite? He was prepared to jerk back, but her reaction would not stop a second advance: a frisky nudge aimed towards her shoulder. Would she suffer his touch?

the other woman did not back down, but she silenced. that was enough for zharille. so long as there was space enough for a study of the man, to get a good understanding of him, to see if he met with her expectations - then perhaps she would have another partner, and the chance of strong offspring would be increased as a result.

zharille did not choose to back down from the woman, she focused instead on the man as he prowled around them. her hackles remained bristling and her face scowling, although she had hidden away her teeth again, and they were ready to shine if he did anything untoward.

he came closer - boldly pressing close to her shoulder. she rumbled a warning and tensed, tipping her chin to keep her throat protected in case he changed his trajectory; but when he didn't, she moved to draw in his scents herself. he was unlike the dark-furred khaba: he did not come from some shadow-laden woodland, but somewhere farther, with many wild scents. there were no signs of other women upon him, or any kind of pack-scent which prevailed.

her rumbling turned to a welcoming croon, and she clipped at him with her teeth in an almost playful, rough way.

A shiver like a jolt of lightning shot down Tarantula’s spine as the giantess made a noise of affirmation and nipped him with bantering teeth. She was not gentle, which he liked, and though not inclined to set his teeth upon her in this moment, even in play, he did wish to test his boundaries further.

Tail up and swaying in anticipation, he moved along her broad side and nudged her, rougher than the first time, grazing towards her hip in a suggestive manner. He would lean into her reaction, eager for her to dance with him, even more eager to collect her beneath him the second she offered herself.

The other wolf was forgotten almost entirely as he focused solely on seeing how receptive the umber mistress was to a bit of physical foreplay.

the woman and her attitude appeared to be controlled now; zharille eyed their painted face a moment longer before attending to the man - as he came snaking close, zharille rumbled an invitation.

she cared little if others were present, if they were watched. let the world see how two healthy, strong beings brought power in to the world! let every curious eye enjoy the spectacle of it!

she braced herself and urged the man to do as she needed, what he desired. perhaps the other woman would learn something - but zharille did not care now, she only held space for one feral desire instilled by the season.

They gave their audience a show: a three-act arc brimming with intense rising action, a fervent climax, and an impassioned conclusion. There was nothing shared in those intimate moments that could have been called romantic or gentle, though he did afford his mistress a salve of licks upon her nape, which he had gripped quite firmly during the inbetween.

Once separated, Tarantula tended to himself, shook out his coat, and looked to both she-wolves with bright, expectant eyes. His gaze settled on the one in heat, and his tail wagged, tongue lolling in the afterglow. There was still energy in him not yet spent.

Tarantula greets these wolves, he grunted, his way of an introduction. With feral wants sated for the time being, he was able to find his voice, though he was far from the long-winded type. Hunt? Yet, whether their bellies were to be filled or not, he would surely try to be with her again.

everything went as well as could be hoped: snared by the man for a time, then apart again.

the other woman lingered; zharille hardly gave them a look.

the man rumbled sounds which earned little comment back, not that she was incapable; only that zharille rarely held the need to speak, and could convey what she must in other ways. the man spoke a word she knew well and she was eager for something to fuel her after their coupling.

zharille rumbled a pleasant sound not unlike the murmurs of her lovemaking. she drew close to the man and roughly played with the fur of his nape, and then an ear, emboldened by their earlier antics. then she parted from him with a bow-legged gait, searching for a scent that might mean food.