mireille left the taiga behind her, trailing the alluring fragrance in her wake. soon evening would come, and she did not want to remain in the same place where her entourage had been, as totoro had called them.
the memory of that meeting filled her with a sweet warmth.
recalling the lover on the taiga made her shiver.
bringing the brutish glacier man to mind haunted mireille with a craving for him again.
but these things she shook away as she passed into the rich valley, one she could see already was lush as spring began its changes in all corners of the world. 
she crested a smooth wide mountain and found her way to the single entrance, pausing as she saw how encircled it was. but mireille did not pass up the fishing to be found almost immediately, settling beside the water with a low snort of anticipation.

Arric had again ducked his head into the icy waters of the river. His fur still wet and the press of fur down his body showing the scars that he usually had hid so well. He had never been as scarred as his father, who bore many. But he was growing his own menagerie of wounded memories upon his skin. Etched in tiny pink and white lines, against black and red fur.

As he walked he smelled it and then he grew curious , because he also recognized the scent beneath it, though he couldn't quite remember why. And though in his mind he knew to wander towards a woman in heat was foolish. He was almost compelled too. A compulsory curiosity that got the best of him. And then there she was another Sea Queen and the one who had ripped apart his face.

As Realization dawned, he turned to swiftly move away. She wasn't worth it. And hadn't he learned his lesson with her sister. Clearly he hadn't, because he had followed another siren song like a godsdamn fool. He'd leave just as fast as he had arrived, hopefully she wouldn't even notice. He however, also didn't wish to turn his back on her. So he shifted and moved to the left as if to go far to the other side. Give her a wide berth and then circle back to home.

but mireille did notice him, did know him, and her scarlet body grew tense with hate and anger.
he knew who she was and where she was from, a threat in great form. her teeth spewed foam as she barked harshly in his direction and gave chase, ears pinned, figure streamlined.
for chacal. for herself. for his daring! she would find where he lived now.

The girl was dumb as hell if she thought he'd take her back to his pack, because he would never endanger them in that way. And he smelled nothing like them. He had been in water most of the day. He had tried to ignore her, had been trying to go around her. What did she fucking expect running around for all to smell her.

But he didn't run or speak this time. he met her with gaping jaws and sharp claws. He aimed for her head, her eyes, her ears. Her throat. He used his height and his weight to his advantage. Did she really want to play, fine. He was angry, and he was on edge and she hated him for no reason other than he was a man. He hoped he could rip her throat out and stuff it back into her maw. At the moment at least. He'd regret his action later, probably.

Growls and snarls rent the air.

the giant muzzle swung toward her. mireille's one saving grace was a step away at the very last second. he tore open her shoulder again, gashing deeply where her first lover had torn.
self-preservation thrummed, instinct for the potential of new life inside her.
mireille bared her fangs and scrabbled backward, backward into noctisardor. there was no way for her to know only stone walls awaited their arrival.
but in her mouth was the taste of water and earth, along with the blood-taste of her own aching throat. yet she did not panic, thick with hate and meaning to strike at least once more.

Arric drove her back. Snarls deep in his throat. A red tint to his gaze. He was so tired of everyone always acting so high and mighty in this godforsaken wilds. No one was better than anyone else, and if he could do nothing else, but rip this bitch off her pedestal it would make his whole damn day. Were he thinking straight and not addled with hormones, anger and exhaustion he would have been horrified at his thoughts. Though in his defense she had attacked him first both times.

She struck and got his shoulder. He jerked back with a huff, blood welling down to splash into the ground, he ignored it. He pressed the envelope intent to grasp her by the ruff and drive her into the ground, press her into the stones with forepaws and jaws. Just once show her what it felt like to be driven into the dirt, just because she wasn't liked.

his massive paw swiped for her, knocking hindlegs sideways with a blow that might have cracked her hip had it not sent her sprawling against the more moss-covered side of a boulder.
the bruise drew a grunt. the man was on her again; she hated him, lips flecked with desperate foam as she snapped at the air.
the instinct again, growling, dragging mireille onward; she was turning, she was fleeing.
into the bypass.
she swerved to and fro as ears slanted to hear his progression, expecting that he would be hot upon her. and she hated herself for the fear.

Arric should have felt bad. He should have hated himself. He should have tried to stop. But he was enraged. So angry and confused and hopeless. It had all been too much and for the poor unfortunate soul in front of him. She had attacked him at the wrong time. Why couldn't she had just left him alone.

She was running and that pissed him off further and with a snarl of absolute hate, he chased after her. He didn't want to kill her. But he sure would like to take some flesh from her hide. She tried to zig and zag and honestly she was daintier than him, faster, but what she made up in speed, he made up in stride. And she hadn't realized he was a graceful beast. His size not showing the breadth of the wolf beneath. So though she kept ahead of him, he was able to keep a semi easy pace.

He surged forward and snapped at her leg, her hip. Hoping to grasp and hurl her again. Growls and saliva dripping from his maw.

it was upon this nimbleness she heavily relied.
the crash of the man's paws on the land after her intended pain, and mireille lent herself fully to the flight of mounting terror.
it was not for herself, but for the promise she carried.
she splashed desperately into the shallows of a creek, sensing the dank rot of a cave nearby, strewn with long forgotten green things.
but his legs were longer; he kept upon her, and she felt his breath singe her before his teeth sliced her haunch with a cutting flare of blood.
mireille leapt for the denmouth.

She was quick, and he was hard pressed to keep up, but keep up he did. At least partially. She was terrified he could smell it on her, just as thick as the cloying scent of womanhood and promises. It was a  disgusting mix and it was that smell that brought him back to the current moment. And shame lit along his innards. But he was a slave to his whims and couldn't stop the last bite he had gotten in, the metallic taste of copper on his tongue, heavy and cloying.

He didn't chase her into the den, because he was done. Sides heaving he gave one last snarl. Then he would quickly turn away and use his longer limbs and his athleticism to leave the area. He would take the longest way home he could, make sure he bathed in as many rivers as he could. he would not lead her to his wolves. IF she did come onto their territory. HE didn't care how many she brought. He'd kill them all. They had children to protect.

A flare of shame lit up his insides again and when he was far enough away. He would give into his despair for having become his father's child and giving into the anger that all the men bore. But in his defense. He had only ever done it once. And he would double his efforts to meditate.