Silver Creek [m] Ain't nowhere left for the good to go

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Mild suggestion

Wordlessly they'd settled into one another's lives. Winterbourne scarcely strayed from Ingiullik's side. He hunted for her, scouted out abandoned dens for the nights they spent together — but when he was not occupied by one of those tasks, the fur of his flank often mingled with hers. His scent thick upon her was an unspoken claim.

He dropped a fish at her feet as he returned from his latest quest for food, settling nearby with his paws folded neatly. His eyes lingered on her. The fire of her season was fading, and now he watched her closely for any sign of regret for their time together.

There was no real label to put on their relationship. Ingiullik fancied them as husband and wife, isolated as they were. There was no one to contest this in her own mind, and nothing Winterbourne did suggested otherwise. He cared for her so dutifully! It was a struggle to find ways to reciprocate — to broadcast her tenderness and devotion through acts of service. He hunted for them, and she went along when she could catch him at it. He watched over her, and she did the same, but did he feel as safe as she did under his watchful eyes.

"You are staring at me," she accused, coquettish in her teasing despite sensing no flirtation in her man's gaze. "Is there nothing else for you to look at?"

She was trying to teach him the mountain tongue. This amounted, most often, to him having no idea what she was saying.

A smirk briefly crossed his dark-masked features. Winterbourne had given up telling her that he didn't understand, and instead had made a game of trying to puzzle out familiar words from the mix. So far he hadn't been successful. Eventually, he figured, he would start to get it.

Until then, he had his own way of responding when that lovely mouth started speaking nonsense again. He picked himself up, answering the tease in Ingiullik's voice with a low growl as he swung a still-damp foreleg over her and pressed his muzzle into her ruff. Clearly she wasn't interested in the fish.

I like looking at you, He told her, nose trailing through her fur.

His growl delighted her; she allowed herself to be caught, briefly, just to revel in his want. He liked to look at her! She had never worried about her looks before, but she craved these compliments, now. She needed to know that he wanted her around. That he would stay.

But, childishly, giggling, she wiggles away from him and slapped the ground with her paws.

"You cannot see me well enough like that!" she claimed, striking a prancing pose. "I should dance for you. Would this please your eyes?"

She was not interested in the fish. This did not mean her eyes were absent of hunger.

He pursued her, but only far enough for his teeth to catch delicately at the base of her spine. A lingering kiss followed to smooth the fur there, and Winterbourne reluctantly allowed her to slip away from him. He'd landed himself a woman filled to the brim with playful energy, it seemed, and while he couldn't mirror it, he wouldn't complain at all.

If it pleases you, it'll please me, It came out a bit more suggestive than he'd meant. Winterbourne grinned sheepishly. Go on, then. Dance.

He was far more sedate than she, and at times she worried that this might be tiresome to him. She feared that she would grow tiresome to him — but so far, it seemed to be a worry made up of her own bad dreams. He was endlessly patient with her, and seemed even to enjoy her higher energy and frisking nature.

So she put on a show for him, starting off with a dance she'd learned as a girl. It made her think of Tullik with a searing sort of want, but she set it aside in favor of the happier memories that came along with it. Her parents had watched them and cheered afterward, and this felt almost like that — excepting that the reward would be very different!

This in mind, she shifted to something far more improvisational, moving provocatively in the privacy of their little glen. She felt they were the only two wolves left on earth, and it made her inhibitions slip away like the silver waters of the creek. She lost herself in dance, feeling lovely and graceful while in reality she looked like that scene from Pitch Perfect where they're trying to teach Stacie not to grab herself while she sings.

These moments were odd to him, torn between something that wanted to be innocent and something unapologetically lustful, something feral and fitting of the thoughtless way they'd tied themselves together. It was the former that lingered with him. Winterbourne's gaze darkened with warring guilt and desire as he watched her.

Then the motion of her body changed, and suddenly Ingiullik seemed much younger. Bile burned at the back of his throat. Winterbourne cleared the distance between them with a few purposeful steps and took her wordlessly into his arms, abruptly impatient with her display; eager to remind himself that she was no girl but a woman, soon to be mother to his children.

A laugh was startled out of her when Winterbourne interrupted the display; she was pleased to be swept up and had no inkling that any part of it had been unenjoyable for him. She pressed herself close, dizzy after all her twisting and spinning and still enchanted by the idea of him.

"Are you pleased?" she asked coyly, expecting only one possible answer.

Winterbourne wasn't about to disappoint the lady. Very, He murmured, swallowing the last of his discomfort in favor of enjoying the soft curves of her body against his.

Still, he was suddenly eager to change the subject. What do you think about this forest? You like it here? Winterbourne kept her close even as he spoke, but his gaze drifted. They would need to think about settling soon — before pregnancy and nursing left Ingiullik den-bound. For the moment it seemed a far off reality, but he knew from experience how quickly it would arrive.

Ingiullik leaned against him with a soft sigh of contentment, feeling undeniably loved and cared for. She had not imagined romance would feel so good or so simple as this — like being held, but in a way she had never been held before.

She liked it. She hoped it would never end.

"This forest?" she asked, her tone strange. Was there anything beside this forest? It took her a moment to remember, and the weight of her sorrows threatened briefly to crash down on her once more. But sheltered as she was in his arms, she was only melancholy for a moment before her thoughtful answer came: "I do. It is lovely here." Her heart beat faster. "Why do you ask this?"

We gotta settle somewhere, yeah? Get a den together, He wished he could watch her expression. Instead he kept her tucked tightly in his embrace, wondering if she'd thought at all about the future — about consequences. Specifically, the consequences of inviting a man into her bed at the height of her season.

We don't have to stay here, Winterbourne added quickly, in case she didn't like that idea. Wherever you want, y'know.

She knew this story — it was just that it was still only a story to her, sometimes. Too good to be true and too big to wrap her mind around. Part of her shied away from the idea even now, not because she did not want to be a mother, but because she did not want to have anything to lose.

A tiny shiver raced down her spine. She tried to disguise it by looking around, seeing the forest as if for the first time.

"I like the forest," she said. Her voice had gone low. Careful. She did not want him to know that she'd wondered about his intentions. Wondering was next-door-neighbors with doubt. "But I have not seen a good place for a den just yet."

She twisted in his arms, turning to face him.

"A den for... the babies," she said, shaking off her worries and addressing the point directly. She was sure that they would come, when she thought about it. He had done his job as diligently as he did everything! But she wanted to see his face and know for the first time that they were thinking about the same future.

A den for... the babies. A smile broke his typically-unreadable expression. Our babies, Winterbourne corrected her softly, pressing his nose to her cheek.

We can keep lookin', He added, eyes bright. Til we find the perfect place, alright? They would settle for nothing less. The perfect place for their perfect new beginning — and he would let Ingiullik be the judge of that. Winterbourne wasn't picky, after all. He only needed her to stay.

"Our babies," she parroted, a goofy grin crossing her features. She gazed adoringly at him for a moment, admiring his strong features and swooning over the sweet things he said. Then her stomach gurgled, and she looked speculatively toward the forgotten fish.

"I will make them fine furs to sleep on," she declared, side-stepping. "They will have soft things to sleep on, and they will be warm while we hunt."

She laid a paw over the fish.

"I would like to know more about you," she told him, her eyes tracing his features once more. She had spent so much time staring at him these past few days! His face was surely branded across her psyche, but she knew so little about him. "Will you come share a meal with me? And tell me about where it is you come from?"

The rumbling of Ingiullik's stomach startled him a bit, but it only showed in a brief lifting of his ears before his smile softened. He wasn't left much time to linger on it anyway; she spoke quickly of her own plans, and then her desire to know more about him. At that his expression turned somber; displeased, almost.

Only for a moment, though. It faded just as swiftly into stoicism. We've already shared a bit more than a meal, don't you think? Winterbourne murmured with another smile — but this one did not reach his eyes. Still, he gestured for her to settle as he reluctantly broke their contact to sit himself.

I was born in a pack called Morningside. It didn't last long, His gaze drifted from Ingiullik again as he spoke. Not much else to tell. Wandered awhile after that. Tried to put down roots here and there - married a couple times, had some kids. All gone now.

Likely not the fairy tale she'd hoped to hear, but it was what he had to offer. There was a certain hardness to his eyes when they found her again. Anything else you wanna know?

She was at first only devastated when she was not met with openness. The rebuttal embarrassed her; she felt she should have been pleased, but instead she only found herself feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Then the story came, but in such a rote tone of voice that guilt and annoyance tore at her from either side of her mind. She wished she hadn't asked, but she had. And, as Winterbourne had said, they'd shared much more than a meal. They were getting ready to share a life, weren't they?

She quailed beneath the granite of his gaze, intimidated and immediately angry about that fact. She was not used to such coldness from someone she cared about, and she didn't like it.

"I suppose not," she said, trying not to be nasty and falling just short of the mark. Her tone was flippant, almost, when she went on: "I suppose there is nothing new to talk about. My family is all dead, too."

Almost, being the key word. Her eyes still watered when she thought about it, and Ingiullik was angry about that, too.

"Ingiullik is what they called me," she told him, her voice sharper and stronger than she meant it to be all in an effort to keep from crying. "But I have gone by Inanna since their passing. You are the first to know my name."

He saw her hurt. How could he not? The bite of shame almost threatened to spark his agitation to a wildfire, but as she went on, Winterbourne found himself deflating. She was hurt, yet she shared with him all the same.

Winterbourne wasn't sure he understood. But after a moment of hesitant silence, he reached for something of his own to share. River, He said after a small silence. Is what my family called me. But no one's called me that in a long time.

Another brief pause, and then — It'll be different this time, yeah? I'll keep you safe. All of you. His gaze lingered on her, searching.

Her strength soon broke, and she sniffled at the first sign that there would be no more fight on the topic. He softened and she melted, absorbing his kind words like an amoeba.

She shuffled nearer and answered, haltingly,

"Yes. It will be different." And though she was but small, she was still mighty enough to vow, "I will protect you, too. And them. We will be safe together."

They must stay far from the mountains.

She blinked up at him, lilac gaze limpid and watery.

"We will be our own family, yes?" she asked him, a hidden question behind her words. Am I am honest women?

Moved by her tears, Winterbourne pressed his nose gently to the delicate curve of her throat just beneath her chin, muzzle tucked beneath hers in a gesture of promise and affection. She would be more than the mother of his children. More, even, than merely his wife; his purpose now, queen of all that he held gingerly in bruised and trembling hands.

Until her, he'd only been a man without a home. A man with nothing to his name but the dirt beneath his nails. He couldn't give her the world — but he could tear it down piece by piece, set it all alight to warm her with the fire.

We already are, Winterbourne assured her softly.

An unsteady breath hitched loudly in her chest. A single tear tumbled drearily to hang from the tip of her black nose. A sniffle. A sigh. This was all she allowed herself even as she was embraced. She held him against her, trying to exude all the strength she knew she held in her small body. He thought that he had to take care of her — she knew this, of course. Such was the way of men.

But she would take care of him. He would see.

"Good," she told him, finally pulling back to offer a tremulous smile.

Fade? <3

Winterbourne kissed her nose fondly, sweeping that single tear away as if the simple act could erase her grief. It wouldn't, of course. He knew that.

But there was no need for grief in this moment, not now that they'd found one another. He tucked her closer wordlessly. For a long time he only held her, listening to the gentle sound of her breathing and the murmurs of the woodland beyond.