Totoka River teeth like kindling

@Ātoztli @Emýr

erys has not eaten in many days, too weak to make a sizable kill on his own. his ribs press against his skin and an old enemy twists in his chest, saps his strength and urges him to sleep eternal. he fights it with the vigor of a madman.

and then he sees it, smells it. sustenance. dinner.

with it a woman, crouched low. eating her fill- cape of pronghorn draped over her powerful shoulders. erys is no fool. this is not a fight he will win with ease. but he is ill, and he is starving, and she has what he wants.

the man approaches with raised tail and bristling hackles, lip curled. a pathetic sight, bedraggled and wild-eyed and trembling. he stops short of her, eyeing her prize greedily.

he will not share. she has had enough.

truthfully, had he come to her in softer tones she might be persuaded to a rare act of altruism.

instead he comes at her with teeth, a flame of hackles upon his nape and eyes wild.

atoztli places paw upon kill, firm.

he's starving, she notes - but her posture's devoid of pity as she answers in turn with a rippling growl pressing from throat.

from the shadows he shifts. steps quiet in a way that belied his size. stalking, pacing, sulking. following the distant symphony of growls drawing him closer. a pair of emerald eyes, intense and narrowed, watching. until from the shadows he is born.

it's a pathetic squabble—an equally pathetic man of skin-and-bone trying to thieve from a woman. a crime that emýr, ever the hero, could not ignore. he surges forward to thwart the smaller man before he could lunge for the rotting carrion; using brutish strength to knock the man onto his back. 

a large paw dipped in ink pins him down. expression incredulous and deceivingly calm as Emýr glares past his crooked snout. "let the woman eat, thief." comes his low warning, rough like gravel.

his demeanor shifts the moment he is thrown upon his back, and a soft whine leaves him. he throws his head to the side, throat bared in open submission, and trembles like a trapped rabbit. fever shines in his eyes, hot on his breath as a half-delirious prayer leaves him.

ah...there you are, my strength.

he can still win this. he must simply prove that he is not the enemy, that he is too weak to be a thief.

"p-please, sir. she did not make this kill, nor did i. it is old, and i found it shortly before she arrived. i would have been happy to share, but she bid me to flee. i am starving, ill. i fear i will not survive to see the summer." a tear slips from one yellow eye, slides down his face and strikes the grass at his back.

and indeed, their scents have mingled too closely now to disprove such a claim.

it'd be smart to cut her losses here, move on. who knows what diseases the starveling has.

a long shadow cuts between them. suddenly the man is upon his back, put there righteously by a stalwart male who, as atoztli surmises, must have observed this ridiculous scene unfold.

vindication turns to outrage as she listens; rather than waste her breath with a madman, atoztli pushes the kill forward, presuming the coagulating blood upon her limbs would speak for itself.

a liar! atoztli's eyes narrow as an artful tear slips from his cheek. he claims he might not make the summer. good! then that would be a service to us all, thief. she cuts, claws digging into the meal she hardly had the good fortune to enjoy.

narrowed eyes of emerald harden as the puny man beneath him trembles. a crocodile tear gliding down his gaunt cheek, calling to the hero's heart of stone that often chipped for unfortunate souls like this. he is stalwart and silent as both voices taunt him, their stories clashing. for a moment, his paw presses harder on the bird-like chest that threatens to cave beneath his weight...and then, it eases. with a sigh, his head snaps to leer at the woman.

"enough." he barks. he doesn't have the time to listen to them bitch over a kill that stinks of rot, of tainted flesh. the coward still trembles like a leaf beneath him. if he were a crueler man, he might have laughed. might have just walked away and let the two vagrants battle for a meager meal. but he can't. "get up," he growled down at the man. "and you," his eyes are shaded and sharp as they leer at the woman. "keep the carcass."

he steps away with a grumble. "stop fucking groveling and follow me." pointed words to the actor; though one thing is true, he does look terrible. it was a command more than an invitation; if the man wanted to live, he would follow. the crownore would provide a fresh kill, and then he'd leave.

immediately the tears cease, and the smaller male nods. the paw on his chest is rigid, threatening, and it thrills some primal part of him. yes, this one will do. erys can see it in his eyes- the desire to save, to nurture. he rises slowly to his feet, weak with exhaustion, and follows the raven man without question.

erys glances snidely over his shoulder and shoots the woman a smug grin. she can keep her pathetic carcass. this man is strong, healthy- and he has promised more. fresh meat. hips swaying, tail aloft, he follows the one who has piqued his interest.

"thank you." he murmurs, lashes heavy over yellow eyes. in truth he is beyond exhausted. beyond desperate. he will take any scrap given to him and he will do so gratefully.

there’s something to be learned in how the starveling does it. if nothing else, atoztli admires his ability to grift total strangers.

she pulls back the kill as the swarthier of the two commands them both, seemingly endeared to this guise of helplessness. back at home, she might bow her head gratefully after he spoke. but out in the wilderness she is a changed woman, indulging in freedom and under no man’s thumb.

taking kill between teeth, atoztli catches the tail end of the wastrel’s smug grin.

she could do him one better. knowing a spell or two to cause unwanted erections and early, misfortunate timing, atoztli decides this kills serves a better purpose than sustaining her.

after the pair leaves she measures the smaller man’s pawprints, laying down her pronghorn pelt and placing upon its auburn surface clay imbued with his scent. two stray hairs she coaxes from the ground and packs into the damp clay.

then, swinging the kill atop it and carrying it all wrapped in the pelt, atoztli sets out in search of a turtle.

"do not thank me." the crownore snaps, deceivingly calm and gruff. he wasn't in the business of helping mangy thieves, but an exception would be made for a creature as helpless as this. the feminine man very well likely could wither away before summer. Emýr has to convince himself he does not care. his steps are heavy as he carves through the snow, neck extended as he lowers his nose to the ground. a faint scent of a newly born fawn, surely still clumsy and uncoordinated enough to fall victim to the man's jaws.

irritation sizzles in his veins. while he may not be heartless, he isn't kind. the man was nothing but a burden, a responsibility Emýr had not been wanting, but was now stuck with for the time being. "you're a fool, for trying to thieve. lucky i was there." he chides. even luckier he was too morally obligated not to have let that woman maul him over a tainted meal. his father always did chide him for trying to be the hero. old habits die hard, it seems.

the scent was thicker now. in the distance was a gentle bleat. Emýr stops to swing around and face the man, lips pulled into a sneer. "don't move," he commanded. the fool would mostly ruin the chance for a kill, should he decide to try and join. the crownore's eyes are scathing before he whisks away, pace brisk.

"yes, very lucky." he agrees readily, yellow eyes fixed on the shadow man. he is brooding, guarded, but his heart is weak. all threats aside, he will not abandon a starving fool- even after he has fed.

erys stops and waits obediently, lecherous gaze following the man as he stalks forward. there is a rugged handsomeness to him the thief appreciates. a rhythmic sway to his hips.

giddy at the prospect of a new plaything, he sits with hunched shoulders and watches like a predator.

the time spent away is a mere blip. the fawn tucked away in tall grass is helpless. it's mother off grazing, though should she be alerted it'd be far too late. it's taken between jaws, it's frail neck snapped with just the smallest of pressure. it isn't a meal luxurious, but it would be enough for the fool waiting for his return to live another day. 

Emýr returns to drop the fawn unceremoniously at the man's feet. "eat." he rasps. an order, not an invitation. starved fools would hardly ever pass up a free meal. he doesn't linger by the gaunt man's side. instead, he sulks away to watch. guard, in case the roles reverse and another hungry mutt comes to claim the carcass. his head risen, eyes narrowed, ears pinned backward to face the vagrant.

the raven man kills, and it is as easy for him as breathing. a violent heart writhes beneath his skin, yes. erys will keep it fed. a wicked, boyish grin plays on his lips, wiped clean as emýr approaches with prize in hand. orders him to eat, and erys is nothing if not obedient.

he eats his fill, muzzle shredding innards to a fine slush. the liver first, then the kidneys. the heart. the flesh of its chest and hind are left for last, delicacies not to be wasted. when all is said and done, he lifts his head. humorous look in his eye, he opens his jaws and speaks.

"thank you."

he braces himself and waits.

just when the silence had begun to ease the turbulent man, his mangy companion had to ruin it. the fur along his spine bristles; a subtle movement, but no less telling of the ire that rapidly began to burn in his veins. his shoulders hike, broad and rugged, and he inhales sharply. "are you deaf?" comes his voice, low and filled with barely contained rage. a man so proud of his stoic face, now reduced into a madman from two words. the fucking nerve.

Emýr rises to his feet with his head low and eyes burning. in a single breath he's pivoted; charging forth to crash his shoulder against the gaunt man's chestt. knocking that frail body into the dirt. giving no time for the man to react, no less retaliate. spit flies from his parted jaws as he snarls. a noise pulled from the pit of his gut. he cages the man beneath him, tail risen and full in a display of dominance. teeth snapping just inches away from a thin neck he could snap with just a few tugs.

"i asked if you are fucking deaf!" he roars. a stark comparison as a man's who's voice was always calm and collected. he'd seen that shit-eating grin. he knows the man is pressing his buttons for reasons he cannot understand. it makes him all the angrier. his eyes are scathing as they bore down at the man beneath him.

erys speaks, and the gray man explodes. a flurry of snarls and snaps and shoves as he knocks the thief onto his back, teetering on the edge of madness.

oh, how beautiful his raven looks when angry. how transcendent. one paw reaches up, uncharacteristically tender, and brushes the matted fur of the taller man's chest. a heartbeat thrums beneath, far too fast. angry, for certain. excited, maybe. shocked for certain.

"for a man of honor, you certainly are easy to unravel. tell me, raven prince, is this a rite reserved just for me? or are you always so..." his head raises, breath ghosting over cheek fur as he uses a nimble forepaw to hook himself closer.

"predictable."

and then he is falling back to earth, onto his back, gazing up at his knight through thick lashes. still one paw remains extended, touching.

raven prince. a nickname that sinks poison-tipped barbs into his flesh. fills his mind with venom and with dreadful memories of his past. he was no fucking prince—not anymore. his patience is waning, his wrath typically kept on a tight leash slipping like grains of sand between fingers. 

"who said i had any honor?" comes his snarl. but they both know the truth, don't they? they both know the troubled hero couldn't be inclined to hurt, to maim. but gods, does he wish he could. he could tear the man in two and leave his innards for the crows to feast on. 

disgust veils a thrill the crownore cannot name. a fleeting shock that rolls through coiled muscle at the repulsive but enticing touch to his chest, the rancid breath against his cheek. he despises it. hates it. fucking loathes it. 

"big words for a small man. i could have let you wither away into nothing but bone. and you have the fucking audacity to taunt me." his words sharp as a blade, laced with venom. "you're as stupid as you are weak." another snap of jaws, just a hairs breath away from that throat.

and then he's reeling away from that searing touch, away from those treacherous bedroom eyes. "you follow me and i will kill you. are we clear?"

"could have, could have, could have." erys mocks him in a whisper, breath soft.

"why didn't you, then? some twisted moral compass, maybe." emýr's teeth seek his throat, less than a heartbeat away, and for once the scoundrel is silent, breath bated. and then he pulls away and erys can breathe again, although he finds he prefers that breathless feeling this man gives him.

he scoffs at what is said next, following with a vengeance as the larger man retreats.

"go on and leave me, then. tell yourself you won't be back by nightfall." and, as he wishes, erys does not chase. he simply lays in the grass, beside the mangled carcass, and waits.