Redsand Canyon prüfstein

their numbers had dipped yet again.
frowning, jaw set and brow furrowed, mahler decamped from his borders to explore the unclaimed territory between himself and the distant courtfall, fairy-realm of @Andraste. he did not often think of her from the day-to-day; whether this was due to the stresses of leadership or a healed heart, he did not know.
and nor did he care.
the heatbound scents kept the gargoyle honed, abristle; it seemed he had never hungered for the flesh before such a time.
he came down into the winterfell canyon wherein he had met one of the woman's courtiers, lapped at the snow with parched tongue before drifting on, searching as much for would-be joiners as he was for those willing to take his weight, drive away the spectres of failure for a short time.

“Was für eine schöene nacht, nicht wahr?”  came the wreathed wisp of mondmädchen;
she, whose painter’s eye had wished for her to have gathered her earthly figure to where she presently lie, strewn as languorous starlet to piano top with sugary-fair arms wended and reaching to sketch themselves absently along ebony and ivory keys. Looks upon this man, prowling for skirts to hitch and long legs to hike; smiles, goblintooth;
she thinks of him when she’s licking purply jam from her palms, or when she’s done the last of her dishes and yet some suds remain. Even, perhaps, he dribbles into her musings before shut-eye, droopy-eyed. But she looks at him now in the way one might take study of a previous indulgence  –  looks at this man that she thinks she once loved, loved with misted eyes and nails blunting into skin into sheets spit-thick with her crying so soft for him.

Once upon a time, she might have let him kiss still her ruined back and to press it to the hard molding of hammer-hands in his pleasure.

Jelly. Dishwater.  “Mahler.”  Looking, looking! lips parting.

Dimpling, now, in a heady, rabbitsoft way; a wicked and little whimsical way; an eve-flushed and faraway way. Hears the goldhot stars and grumbling of gouache moon; bares her embellished throat to both.

silverchased form filled his eyes, and mahler was made cold, grim — all hands stiffly aclasp behind his straight back in the manner of a decorated officer descending upon a civilian. stalking forward, pausing heavy tread to regard this gossamer-spun nightmare of dreadful beauty and alluring pose with a reinforced emptiness to lavender stare.
she spoke not in her tongue but his; designed to throw him off-guard, the general gruffed with irritation in his own mind. but to andraste he only gave a curt nod. "und die herden kehren zurück," mahler uttered.
no time now to speak of loveliness, of the night; no want for the fell-fairy to wrap her silvered chains about him and draw him aside.
wylla had come back to him.
mahler then was happy to keep his banter with the queen to only what would be said mid kingdoms with a tenuous alliance. formal. grey.

And Melkor had returned to her.

“Du hast mir nie geantwortet,”  still, giggling now,  “vom aufschäumen aus dem mund.”  To use his tongue  –   it was the only thing she had left of him. She would not have his mouth on hers, nor his hands behind her knees again. She looks at him, though, and continues to look; the waxen features melting into something resigned, reiterated and she knows as much as he does that they can not ever go back to their wending of another. He would not ever be inside of her again.

And if he lusted her any less  –  if he had her now, she would be ruined. Ragdoll.

It had not been her loss, of course.
“Willst du nicht mitkommen?”
Not at all.

She would not take him between her thighs or into her throat, mind you;
but would much rather to see the make of him up close, for she has forgotten all but the color of his eyes all sticky and cloying like jam on palms and Andraste rights herself;
wriggles to peer at him from o'er red-rock cusp with wide and girlish eyes; a tilt of the head that bespoke some well of vulnerability that was reserved for those few had only stole so close to her own healed heart.

“Es ist schon so lange her, dass ich mit einem anderen Sterngucker zusammen war.”

An innocent invitation that he could certainly decline.