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+--- Thread: Deepwood Weald [M] To the sound of the bird that mourns (/showthread.php?tid=60488)
[M] To the sound of the bird that mourns - Simbelmyne - April 03, 2024
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The sun was at its peak in the sky, sending shattered sunlight through the cedar in tall, straight beams. When she looked to @Dutch on most days, her heart surged with happiness and hope. When she looked to him now- she felt an aching desire.
She felt herself become ready, and uttered a soft, purring growl as she led him through the shafts of light and swirling mists. She was glad, now, that she had insisted they go on an outing- she wanted all of his attention.
RE: To the sound of the bird that mourns - Dutch - April 04, 2024
Dutch had known.
Anticipation grew within him with each step they took further from the others. The followed the strand of trees from the seal hunter village into a darker woodland — the place where he and Sulukinak had first met. In the spring time, the territory felt much warmer. The mists were playful instead of foreboding, and the panther felt correspondingly coltish.
He grizzled back at her, frisking toward her with his jaws wide and grinning. He went for her scruff, hoping to provoke a playful fight.
RE: To the sound of the bird that mourns - Simbelmyne - April 07, 2024
When she whirled around, she discovered that she had left a small wake in the mist, a gap that was soon closed by her husband- her husband!- with grinning jaws. A surge of energy filled her with zest- she frisked sideways with a few elegant bounds, causing the fern fronds to dance and whirl.
She tucked her wispy tail, flattened her tufted ears and with a wide grin, she tucked down and began to whirl as quickly as she could- caught in the frazzling dizziness of the zoomies.
RE: To the sound of the bird that mourns - Dutch - April 11, 2024
The panther, despite his name, was not quite so lithe and nimble as his wife. He tried his best to keep up anyway, dancing in and out of her path and making half-hearted attempts to catch her fur between his teeth.
"Myna, mere khajaana," he said, the words half laughter and half prayer. The new possessiveness he felt toward her had, ironically, made an ardent devotee out of him. Where the health of the pack had once been his idol, it was Simbelmyne's happiness that was now a direct measure of his worth as a man and a husband.
And she was beautiful when she was happy. She was always beautiful, but she was breathtaking to him now. When the breeze ruffled her fur, it made him think of the endless prairie he'd once seen — of miles of wheatgrass swaying and rippling like a living creature. The bright sparkle of her quicksilver eyes made his heart jump every time he caught it. He knew he ought to show more humility, but each time, he could not help thinking it: I did that.
He hoped that she would always look at him like this.
"Mere pyaar, mere roshani, — "
The words had taken on a sing-song lilt, as his words were wont to. His teeth snapped on empty air, leaving only a few wispy tendrils of tail fur stuck to his dark lips.
RE: To the sound of the bird that mourns - Sulukinak - April 11, 2024
Weird voyeuristic little sister cameo.
she watched them, tracking them through the weald as she learned it's cross streets and avenues; she saw how warm and happy they were as they met, and how silly as they danced and played—!
dutch had never done this with her, she thought possessively; his voice sang praises with its tone even though sulukinak did not know the words, and she wished she did.
his thimble-wife dashed through the ferns, and sulukinak tensed where she lurked, ducking, staring; and then dutch ran after her and the shadow waited there until there was only the silence of the forest—and distant sounds of glee bursting from places she could not see or follow.
after some time she lifts free of her hiding place and coasts through the green, watching for them, curious of their game and also somehow dimly aware this was something private she was not meant to see.
RE: To the sound of the bird that mourns - Simbelmyne - April 12, 2024
His words lifted like an answered prayer, and she danced to the soft melody of his voice, twirling, featherlight. She felt his breath brush against her and once she had spun herself she bounded drunkenly toward him, gigging and foolish.
Her dizziness brought her some glee; she tilted her head back as she stumbled gently against his side, laughing now simply because it had become contagious; her heart had never known such boundless glee!
Once the world stopped spinning she turned her gaze to him, as it steadied, so that she could see him in focus once more. She beamed; such a man she had found for herself!
RE: To the sound of the bird that mourns - Dutch - April 12, 2024
The panther caught his wife when she stumbled into him. He made himself into as comfortable a resting place as he could, shifting automatically to accommodate her while his muzzle dipped more purposefully to her pale throat. He preened through her silky fur, tail whisking erratically. Currents of mist swirled around them.
Oh, to hold her! She fit perfectly against him, and their fur, where it mingled, made for a pleasing gradient.
His breath caught when their eyes met. He was struck again by her uncommon beauty, as he had been the very first time he laid eyes on her. (Would others look at their children and see something just as special?) He'd written her off almost at once as a prospect, and even through the steady swell of his admiration. As much as he loved playing out his more fanciful stories, he'd never imagined he would end up with someone he'd so immediately cast as the princess.
"Mere rani," he whispered, leaning forward to trace the word over the tuft of her ear.
RE: [M] To the sound of the bird that mourns - Simbelmyne - April 20, 2024
She crooned as he teased his teeth through the fur along the side of her neck, tilting her jaws back so he could reach the crook of her neck. Her skin prickled with anticipation, and she shuddered softly as he spoke beautiful, nonsensical words into her ear.
”Take me, as your wife,” she pleaded. In vows and titles they had already exchanged all that was necessary- but what she asked for now him to bring children into their lives. Any reservations she might have ever had faded away, as she drifted against him, hoping he would draw her into his embrace.
RE: [M] To the sound of the bird that mourns - Dutch - April 21, 2024
Her word was his command. He murmured in affirmation, sweeping her up against him and burying his face in the thick fur of her scruff. Dutch breathed in her scent, claws grazing her ribcage in an effort to draw closer still. Then his teeth pinched just briefly, scissoring together to grip her scruff.
Then they were joined. The panther breathed out her name in ardent prayer.
Later, the pair lay in a tangle of limbs, Dutch supporting himself on an elbow as he groomed his wife's fur back into place. It would all come awry when they had rested, but the panther could happily fuss over Simbelmyne for an eternity and never grow tired of it. He did not mind the thought of fixing it all over again in a few hours.
"If I had been smart enough to dream," he spoke into the peaceful quiet: "This is what I would have dreamed of. But if I had dreamed of this — I would have done nothing but sleep."
RE: [M] To the sound of the bird that mourns - Simbelmyne - April 21, 2024
She had been given everything that she wanted. A home, a man, and soon enough, she hoped that she would have children. She had feared that it might be too late for her- that she might be perceived as an old maid for having been overlooked for a season already. Now, she had nothing to fear, and everything to look forward to.
He spoke of dreams, and she laughed faintly. ”I not sure I am not dreaming now,” She said.
RE: [M] To the sound of the bird that mourns - Dutch - April 21, 2024
Dutch laughed, soft and breathy against the silken fur of her chest. He pressed a kiss there to smooth it back into place, and then another to her cheek before he set his forehead against hers.
"Then keep dreaming," he whispered, his throat suddenly tight.
Her dreams would be his guiding star. He would set the world exactly as she liked it. He would do anything to stay there in her dreams — to be the man that she dreamed about.
RE: [M] To the sound of the bird that mourns - Simbelmyne - April 21, 2024
If this was a dream, then she like Dutch would never hope to awaken from it. In the misty, fern-filled forest, she would pray for him to dream with her again- and again, until they both tumbled into a true and fitful sleep. He danced in her mind, both in her waking and sleeping hours, in daydreams, fantasies and reality….And she couldn’t have asked for more.