he cried out for her. the rains in the stormlashed night castigated him with their stinging little teeth, but still he clung to his perch, pouring his full-throated cry into the tears of the spring's crashing. murkwater eyes searched the shadows for her, for the darkness to birth the changeling from its ever-shifting womb.

it had never come to pass that he had spoken alone with tonravik; he followed her because she was of siku, nothing more. but her ferocity was unchecked, and the fire seething in her gaze did not quench his thirst, but intensified it. earthen paws gripped the stone of the crag upon which he stood, and lasher called again with wavering passion the would-be witch, she of siku, who sought to firm tartok on this emotionless rock again.

i am yours! i am yours! taltos keened, eyes narrowed against the nip of rain to his eyelids.

taltos saw her, and fell silent. like a wraith he slipped from his position, heading along the decline of the mountainside to meet her. she would come to him, he knew, but it was not his place to wait for that. he shook a flurry of clear droplets from his nape and sidled into her presence, breath rising in a plume of steam with his soft chuff of invitation.

she was as beautiful as he recalled, but it was not the typical loveliness that would give a mere man pause. no, she was as her mother — admiring her was as admiring a fine weapon, with sleek curves and and a polished beauty, but it was a true fool who forgot that such was lethal, turning feral in an eyeblink, to rend flesh with bone and splash the ground with blood.

and so he kept a comfortable distance, one satisfactory — he hoped — for the both of them, but lasher let his murky gaze feast openly on her, face filled with all the expression and love that she needed to know.

had he the words with which to speak, to describe her, lasher would have given it his all, but as it was, he had no rejoinder, save for the almost imperceptible quirk of smile upon his lips, one that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. not for the first time, taltos wondered at her age. it was something easily enough gleaned from the set of her shoulders and the sweep of her hips, but in many ways, tonravik seemed ageless, both endlessly old and unfathomably young. perhaps it was the curse of her witchblood, that she should exist in such a space.

silently, he watched as she turned away from him momentarily, pride swelling in his breast for the lovely curve of her throat, the strong line of her jaw. and in answer to the question posed with loud noiselessness in her eyes, lasher leant forward, slowly, as not to incur the wrath he knew boiled just beneath the dark surface of her pelt, and ran a careful tongue along the fine bone of one feminine shoulder.

she seemed perplexed, and so he drew away after a lingering moment. his gaze found her own, and unbidden he slipped closer, though not so close that she would lift her ebon lips in scorn. the dark one did not chastise him, but nor did she speak, and so taltos filled the silence between them with brief words. your mother was my witch. the earthen man did not know if tonravik would understand, for he had played but a small role in siku's life, though he knew his love for her had never gone unnoticed.

and you are of her blood, taltos murmured, eyes traveling to the scene before them, rainwet and sheeted in grey mists. the implication was clear — yet he did not yet call her witch. proffering but a taste of what his service meant; he hoped that it would be enough to invoke in her the spirit of her mother, and deem her worthy of his title.

she did not care for his words, but again, she did not lash her teeth to chide him. he could see plainly that she sought to win her wolves with cunning and ferocity, but the blood lineage was what bound lasher to her now. yet he did not speak, but sidled alongside her with a soft outblowing of breath from his lungs. no matter the links in it, he was bonded to her with a strong chain that not even he could understand.

her cold eyes were loveliness to his own gaze; he shook out his ruff and fell into step with her, paws careful upon the ground, for he had not been reared on mountains as tonravik had.

taltos scented the air, but he would leave the narrowing of the quarry to his sable companion. 'twas her role, and his was to follow. endlessly, and to the very edges of the world if she requested it. as they moved, he mentally inventoried the males of the pack, and wondered, if when her season arrived, she would demand that they vie and clash for the cold affections of her dark eyes, as her mother had before her.