Black Morass i'm timeless

AW but maybe @Theissor ?

the soft murmur of the water played a calming melody, a backdrop to her quiet labor. strips of fresh meat were laid over a makeshift rack fashioned from sturdy branches and woven reeds, angled just so to catch the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.
fixed on her work, each piece carefully placed to ensure it would dry evenly. a faint smile graced her lips as she hummed a low tune, a prayer woven into the melody—a thanks to the gods for the bounty provided.
every so often, her gaze drifted to the gentle flow of the stream, its clarity revealing darting fish and smooth stones beneath the surface. it was a simple task, but it anchored her, reminding her of her purpose and the lives depending on her steady hands. the scent of the meat mingled with the crispness of the water, a quiet testament to the harmony of survival and ritual.

YES MAAM

he follows a melody and the scent of iron. tactlessly he parted the reeds, dark legs wading through the waters with minimal effort as he found the source of the singing. a woman, ethereal in her beauty. but she wasn't a maiden. the scent of the old brute clotted in her fur even at this distance. this must be the reverend mother — even theissor would be able to tell.

theissor did not approach her side. distance was needed from this one, the praetor did not trust himself to get carried away by earthly desires.

her eyes remained fixed on the drying meat for a moment longer, but the faint curve of her lips betrayed her awareness.
theissor, she said, her voice a soft murmur, yet it carried with ease over the gentle stream. her tone was even, but there was a thread of command woven within it, an unspoken expectation.
she rose slowly, brushing her paws against her fur to remove the lingering traces of the task at hand. turning just enough to cast a glance in his direction, her gaze remained calm, almost serene.
i can feel you, she continued, her words neither welcoming nor reproachful, simply fact. step into the light for the mother. ione’s eyes were knowing, though she kept her distance, her posture unyielding but not unkind.

the pitch black brute follows, if hesitantly. his eyes searched for kovictus, how close does this reverend mother need him to be?

reverend mother. he dipped his head regardless, his own smile crinkling his eyes careful not to leer. she was a prize, no wonder the dominus promised to geld him if he ever caught theissor in bed with her. he straightened his shoulders, and cocked his head to the side. i assume your husband has told you of me? if you knew my name.

ione’s laughter was a low, knowing thing, curling at the edges of her lips like the fog that clung to the morass. she did not need to search for her husband’s presence—he was always there, woven into the very fabric of this land, a force that neither faltered nor faded.
i hear all inside the morass, she murmured, tilting her head as she regarded the man before her, amusement glinting in the pale blue of her gaze. your name is not a secret, theissor.
she stepped closer, the damp earth shifting beneath her paws. but tell me—what is it you think he has said? there was a challenge in her voice, a tease wrapped in silk, as if daring him to speak what he truly thought.

only gods could hear all. she would've been called a witch and burned with sticks anywhere else. but here, a witch ruled overall. what a predicament.

theissor cocked his head to the side and grinned facetiously. nothing more than neccessary, your highness. and that was probably the truth. and nothing i'm concerned about.

ione regarded him with a slow blink, the weight of her gaze heavy despite the quiet amusement that curled at the edges of her lips.

good, she murmured, tilting her head just so, a queen studying the jest of a courtier. concern is such a wasted thing.

then, dismissive, with the ease of one who knows she is owed obedience— see that it stays that way, theissor.

he grunts, grin dropping his dark lips. dainty as she appeared, she carried herself with the cockiness of a man; knowing full well that if theissor laid even a paw on her, he'd be gelded by her barbarian of a husband.

but he would tempt his luck as much as possible. i don't like your games, woman. his figure kept its distance, smart enough to keep away from the harpy. did she act like this around kovictus or did the man have dignity and discipline her.

ione laughed. a rich, throaty sound, the kind that filled the air and made men feel small. oh, theissor, she purred, amusement dancing behind her hued eyes, you don't like my games because you never win them.

she took a single step forward, testing the space between them. does it unsettle you? her voice dipped, soft as silk, but sharp as the dagger sheathed at her hip. to be tested by a woman?

she tilted her head, gaze dragging over him like she was appraising a blade at market. tell me, do you whimper this much when kovictus handles you? or is that just reserved for me?

the smirk that curled her lips was wicked, knowing. she had no fear of him. he could loathe her, but he would never touch her. not unless he wished to learn what kovictus did to men who forgot their place.