hunting. hunting in unfamiliar terrain was a bitch. but colt was determined to keep their little gang steady. he had decided he'd been wrong about lonesome. she was just sick.
and sadey, well. she would have to pick up the hunting too.
he prowled through the sheeting rain of a cold day, watching snowmelt give way to mud beneath his paws. prey. entertainment? briggs welcomed both.

Steady, swift feet carried her onward around the mountain range, carefully avoiding marked borders. It was cold and raining hard, but it did not slow the woman. A splotch of movement grabbed her attention, and the girl steadied herself, watching him. A man of mottled fur that rivaled her own. A man of red eyes that reminded her of the innards of prey.

He moved toward her, and she saw the looks of him. He wasn't particularly handsome, but Diantha's choices were slim. There was the silver man from yesterday—she stopped the thought, not wishing to replay the events.

Fancy this.

Khaba had been handsome on the outside, and rather ugly on the inside, she had decided. Perhaps it was always flipped so.

She didn't speak, but she moved closer to take in his fragrance. Her body yearned for him, though her mind was less sure. What kind of a man was he?

Not a family man.

And what kind of woman was Diantha? A family woman? She could hardly call herself that. Her own parents had gone and died on her, and she'd never attached properly to her adoptive ones. Her siblings scattered, her life a string of brief interactions with things that might have been family if they'd done better by her. And none of them had. The pharaoh (the real pharaoh) had been the only one she had even remotely cared for, and he'd gone and died.

Perhaps "not a family man," was exactly what she needed to scratch the itch. Perhaps she didn't need a family at all, save the children she could raise to be her own. Wouldn't they fill the void of unconditional love she'd deserved her whole life? She didn't know, but her instincts told her not to care, and she found herself wordlessly diving head-first into the stranger's embrace.

He asked for her to stick around, but she did not know if she would. Diantha nodded anyway. The itch scratched, she found him less interesting now. The young woman did not invite him to curl up with her, though she would not deny his touch if he insisted. Her eyelids grew heavy, and satisfaction would swiftly send her to sleep.

colt didn't.
he yawned, tucked a foreleg under his chest, watched the stars while she slept.
he hung close in possession of not only her but the pleasure she'd brung to his silent flesh. nothing she did could touch that wretched heart of his, but they could distract each other.
briggs was quiet and contemplative.