for kj & her @Coelacanth <3
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The glassy deltas had frozen over, where once their properties might have been reflective were cloudy with swirled ice. Snow fell, light, but it clung heavy to the ground, wet and packed as it crunched beneath his heavy footfalls. His ears twitched atop his skull before they rose, alert at the sound of the ice shifting over top of the moving river. So it wasn’t frozen solid and he was willing to bet that if he tried to walk off the bank and onto the ice that it might crack and break beneath his weight. He visibly hesitated, pacing back and forth on the northern bank of the river, his pale blue gaze scanning the ice that bridged the river over knowing that if he did not wish to backtrack he would have to cross it. Going around wasn’t an option as a pack claimed the forest just to the west. He was not overly close but he could smell them well enough and the Doctore deigned to stay away. He’d been apart of enough battles in Coatl Rise’s arena to know that he would not actively go and seek them out here. He did not feel the drive, the aggression to fight though he had been given no choice but be forced to. For entertainment and for rights as to which he hadn’t gotten to even take advantage of.
He could find a part of the river, surely, that wasn’t frozen over and swim his way across therefore eliminating the possibility of falling through the ice and getting trapped beneath it. Suffocation by icy waters wasn’t particularly the way he’d envisioned himself dying. He’d rather be gutted in the arena ten times over than drown. Swimming wasn’t a very good option either. Salmon pink tongue drew across his lips and he ceased in his restless pacing to shake his coat free of the snow that collected upon his back though he knew it was futile. It appeared that if he wanted south of the river he was going to have to backtrack.
[/td][/tr][/table]He could find a part of the river, surely, that wasn’t frozen over and swim his way across therefore eliminating the possibility of falling through the ice and getting trapped beneath it. Suffocation by icy waters wasn’t particularly the way he’d envisioned himself dying. He’d rather be gutted in the arena ten times over than drown. Swimming wasn’t a very good option either. Salmon pink tongue drew across his lips and he ceased in his restless pacing to shake his coat free of the snow that collected upon his back though he knew it was futile. It appeared that if he wanted south of the river he was going to have to backtrack.
NOTE: In Seelie’s personal timeline, this takes place after her thread with Sriracha.
It is the final thread in her “Return to the Teekon Wilds” chapter.
It is the final thread in her “Return to the Teekon Wilds” chapter.
Immediately following the night of celebration, the little Groenendael traced the shoreline eastward. She bade farewell to the pinnipeds and their rocky shoals, danced her way across the mirror-like river delta, and looked with poignant fondness upon Marbas’ island. Restlessly she wandered the cape, nimble paws carrying her past a series of rocky cliffs as she chased a pod of dolphins, stopping only when territory borders forced her to. Kierkegaard’s scent drew her to the sirens’ hallowed ground; and yet, a pressing need to keep moving spurred her onward. At the eleventh hour she bathed in seawater set aglow by bioluminescent plankton — and just as the first glimmers of dawn began to outshine the glittering expanse of stars, the inky ingénue set her sights further north and turned away from the breathtaking radiance that surrounded her. With a single backward glance and a fierce ache in her heart for those she would leave behind — Doe, Marbas, Kierkegaard, Dagfinn, Starbuck, Szymon, and Chusi — Coelacanth left the Teekon Wilds entirely, intent on finding her wayward twin.
A morass of unspoken words tangled thickly within Coelacanth’s heart as she carefully traced the familiar northern coastline further and further south. The distant barking of sea lions evoked a deep-seated sense of comfort that smoothed the brittle edges of her waiflike framework and coaxed her stuttering, jittery gait into a ghost of its former elegance. When she reached the glimmering delta chain at last, catlike paws touching down with pinpoint precision, a soft sigh billowed her concave sides and snaked in misty tendrils from her lips. She didn’t look for Marbas anymore, having lost all hope that she would find the charcoal-patterned wolf who had wounded something far more sacred than flesh with a swift flash of his fangs, but his memory was imprinted upon this place in an indelible way. It belonged to him, as did the island across the sea.
In many ways, Coelacanth had failed. She had lost touch with every friend she’d made in the Teekon Wilds, only to come up short in the search for Amoxtli. Lone wolf — stray dog — none could lay claim to her, and she, in turn, could lay claim to none. The loneliness she felt worsened by the day, threatening to consume her — but the wariness intrinsic for both halves of her muddled ancestry had long since sharpened to a fragile skittishness. It was a double-edged blade that simultaneously kept her safe and made it harder for her to interact appropriately with others of her kind. Aside from Szymon — who she trusted only because of his relationship to Doe — and the starsilver berserker, she had fled from every wolf she had encountered since her return to the wilds. Shivering, her inkdark fur dappled with snowflakes, she turned inland.
Snow. Despite her poor condition and heavy heart, the little Groenendael’s attention was drawn with rapt eagerness to the icy crunch that marked her steps. She hadn’t even noticed it at first, being so lost in her own melancholy. A sudden lengthening of her stride betrayed her dancer’s sprightly musculature, and her tiny body arced into a grand jeté, each willowy limb outstretched in a prolonged, balletic leap. She landed in a fine dusting of the stuff, then dipped her shoulders to roll and flop like a earthbound sea lion through the wintry expanse. Yes, she thought, banishing what negativity she could as clusters of ice collected in her feathery fur, I have failed — but I am not defeated. Not yet.
A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she straightened immediately, brilliant Neptune eyes settling with mingled eagerness and curiosity on a wolf far taller than herself. Her predominant emotion was shyness — a fact made evident by the anxious way she glanced over her snow-dappled shoulder and refocused on the stranger with an airy, beseeching whine. Dainty paws ghosted forward one step before backpedaling two, and her elegant, tufted ears strained forward upon her skull as her nose quivered. Fruitlessly she tried to glean his intentions. The wild, frenetic inclination to flee was paramount, but a harrowing desire not to be alone anymore rooted her to the spot. Anxious little whimpers and whines tumbled airily from her lips, toneless and frail, as her sumi-e brush tail beat nervously against her hocks.
A morass of unspoken words tangled thickly within Coelacanth’s heart as she carefully traced the familiar northern coastline further and further south. The distant barking of sea lions evoked a deep-seated sense of comfort that smoothed the brittle edges of her waiflike framework and coaxed her stuttering, jittery gait into a ghost of its former elegance. When she reached the glimmering delta chain at last, catlike paws touching down with pinpoint precision, a soft sigh billowed her concave sides and snaked in misty tendrils from her lips. She didn’t look for Marbas anymore, having lost all hope that she would find the charcoal-patterned wolf who had wounded something far more sacred than flesh with a swift flash of his fangs, but his memory was imprinted upon this place in an indelible way. It belonged to him, as did the island across the sea.
In many ways, Coelacanth had failed. She had lost touch with every friend she’d made in the Teekon Wilds, only to come up short in the search for Amoxtli. Lone wolf — stray dog — none could lay claim to her, and she, in turn, could lay claim to none. The loneliness she felt worsened by the day, threatening to consume her — but the wariness intrinsic for both halves of her muddled ancestry had long since sharpened to a fragile skittishness. It was a double-edged blade that simultaneously kept her safe and made it harder for her to interact appropriately with others of her kind. Aside from Szymon — who she trusted only because of his relationship to Doe — and the starsilver berserker, she had fled from every wolf she had encountered since her return to the wilds. Shivering, her inkdark fur dappled with snowflakes, she turned inland.
Snow. Despite her poor condition and heavy heart, the little Groenendael’s attention was drawn with rapt eagerness to the icy crunch that marked her steps. She hadn’t even noticed it at first, being so lost in her own melancholy. A sudden lengthening of her stride betrayed her dancer’s sprightly musculature, and her tiny body arced into a grand jeté, each willowy limb outstretched in a prolonged, balletic leap. She landed in a fine dusting of the stuff, then dipped her shoulders to roll and flop like a earthbound sea lion through the wintry expanse. Yes, she thought, banishing what negativity she could as clusters of ice collected in her feathery fur, I have failed — but I am not defeated. Not yet.
A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she straightened immediately, brilliant Neptune eyes settling with mingled eagerness and curiosity on a wolf far taller than herself. Her predominant emotion was shyness — a fact made evident by the anxious way she glanced over her snow-dappled shoulder and refocused on the stranger with an airy, beseeching whine. Dainty paws ghosted forward one step before backpedaling two, and her elegant, tufted ears strained forward upon her skull as her nose quivered. Fruitlessly she tried to glean his intentions. The wild, frenetic inclination to flee was paramount, but a harrowing desire not to be alone anymore rooted her to the spot. Anxious little whimpers and whines tumbled airily from her lips, toneless and frail, as her sumi-e brush tail beat nervously against her hocks.
January 02, 2017, 06:46 AM
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It was just as Thexxan had deduced that he had little choice but to backtrack and had turned his back to head back the way he’d came to the river that the sound of irregular footfalls captured his attention and he turned back to watch the graceful dancer make her landing in a spray of snow. For a moment, the doctore was a bizarre mixture of confused and amused, unsure what had inspired her to make those leaps and further roll in the fresh snow that blanketed the ground but she was female and he was not to question her. The women of Coatl’s Rise had conditioned their gladiators correctly: they would take their teachings with them if they left. Thexxan, suppressed royalty though he was, was no exception. He watched her for a long moment, realizing his place when she noticed him, diverting his pale blue eyes with a swiftness that befitted the strike of a cobra, accompanied by the flattening of his ears and the tuck of his tail even as her airy whine broke the silence between them. “I am sorry for staring, miss,” Or did she prefer “ma’am” or some variation of title? Except he didn’t know her title and thus had to make a snap judgement right then and there and hope that she did not scold him for it.
He sunk low, prostrating himself before her as to not invoke her ire though his confusion rose to a crescendo of it’s own beat when she did not come forward to assert her dominance over him. Slowly, hesitantly, his gaze flickered to her as her toneless whines and whimpers broke the bitter and chilled air. She seemed…ready to take flight from him. Thexxan’s hesitation was visible. She was his superior, as all females were, but he wondered if perhaps she didn’t realize. “I —” He drew a breath, stuttering over his words for a moment. “— I am yours to command.” He told her with a gentle bit of force, unsure on how he was meant to be subtle about such a thing. "I will leave if it is your will." And he would do it like a good subjugate: without fuss or resistance.
[/td][/tr][/table]He sunk low, prostrating himself before her as to not invoke her ire though his confusion rose to a crescendo of it’s own beat when she did not come forward to assert her dominance over him. Slowly, hesitantly, his gaze flickered to her as her toneless whines and whimpers broke the bitter and chilled air. She seemed…ready to take flight from him. Thexxan’s hesitation was visible. She was his superior, as all females were, but he wondered if perhaps she didn’t realize. “I —” He drew a breath, stuttering over his words for a moment. “— I am yours to command.” He told her with a gentle bit of force, unsure on how he was meant to be subtle about such a thing. "I will leave if it is your will." And he would do it like a good subjugate: without fuss or resistance.
Wary and watchful at first, the little Groenendael tilted her finely-sculpted head in utter puzzlement as the regal wanderer made himself small before her — a colossal feat given the marked difference in their heights — and sharply averted his powder blue eyes. So dissociated was she from his show of submission that she turned her head swiftly to look over one ink-feathered shoulder, agile hindquarters dancing in a deft, automatic semicircle to bring her parallel with him as her own carriage dipped and her sleek topline formed a graceful tilde. Tufted ears swept back to hug her crown as her soft pink tongue darted nervously forth to lap at the tip of her nose — but her Neptune eyes were quizzical as she took in the empty landscape. What had he seen to cow him so? Turning to him with a shy flutter of her sumi-e brush tail, “There is nothing to fear,” she crooned to him comfortingly, in a low, undulating whine. In her haste to banish his fear, she forgot her own.
“I — I am yours to command,” he told her then, and Coelacanth tilted her head to the other side, wondering in her doggish way whether she would be able to find sense in his nonsensicality from this angle. She concluded that he had mistaken her for someone or something more important than herself — a mere sheepdog without a flock, a mere wolf without a pack — and shimmied nearer to him, stretching out on her torso beside him in the snow. With a vehement shake of her head she denied both his fealty and his offer to leave; he was warm and solid and real and he spoke so kindly — and she was so lonely! — and although he lacked the otherworldly command of Doe’s Leviathan or the Haloisi Kjalarr, he bore a magnetism all his own.
A glimmer of what she’d felt upon meeting Marbas, Doe, and Kierkegaard for the first time — the unfettered, unabashed hope and heedless trust that characterized the inky ingénue — strummed the wounded sheepdog’s heartstrings at Thexxan’s nearness; she looked to him now to soothe aches to which she could place no name. Craning her graceful neck, she scooped snow onto the bridge of her nose and deposited it in a miniscule hillock at the male’s forepaw, whuffing softly to topple it and allow it to spill across his toes. In an extension of that motion, she tipped her finely-sculpted head so her cheek was pillowed upon the glimmering white, seabright eyes looking bashfully up at him with a luminous plea: please do not leave me.
“I — I am yours to command,” he told her then, and Coelacanth tilted her head to the other side, wondering in her doggish way whether she would be able to find sense in his nonsensicality from this angle. She concluded that he had mistaken her for someone or something more important than herself — a mere sheepdog without a flock, a mere wolf without a pack — and shimmied nearer to him, stretching out on her torso beside him in the snow. With a vehement shake of her head she denied both his fealty and his offer to leave; he was warm and solid and real and he spoke so kindly — and she was so lonely! — and although he lacked the otherworldly command of Doe’s Leviathan or the Haloisi Kjalarr, he bore a magnetism all his own.
A glimmer of what she’d felt upon meeting Marbas, Doe, and Kierkegaard for the first time — the unfettered, unabashed hope and heedless trust that characterized the inky ingénue — strummed the wounded sheepdog’s heartstrings at Thexxan’s nearness; she looked to him now to soothe aches to which she could place no name. Craning her graceful neck, she scooped snow onto the bridge of her nose and deposited it in a miniscule hillock at the male’s forepaw, whuffing softly to topple it and allow it to spill across his toes. In an extension of that motion, she tipped her finely-sculpted head so her cheek was pillowed upon the glimmering white, seabright eyes looking bashfully up at him with a luminous plea: please do not leave me.
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It was her low whine that drew Thexxan’s gaze back to her, albeit with some reluctance. To gaze upon a woman in the Rise was a privilege reserved for the minute before a battle in the arena where death awaited the fallen (for there was only one victor and no surrender) and when they were commanded to look upon them. Even for a Doctore twas a rare command, and only bestowed only to Five who had gazed upon War Queen Quetzalcoatl (Thexxan’s mentor would always be something out of a mythos: a living legend to him). He bit back the laugh that bubbled within his throat, attempting to break free and spill from betwixt his lips as Thexxan watched her spin in an elegant one eighty, evidently confused by his submission. It never broke free, and the chilled silence remained between them. Inferiors did not laugh at their superiors.
The tufted woman did not speak, instead she shimmied nearer until she was stretched out alongside him. To touch! Thexxan’s muscles instinctively tensed at the warmth the streamlined woman offered him was baffling. …Not to mention breaking at least ten rules. Yet, as she had initiated it he did not recoil away from her, wishing to avoid upsetting her. There was no telling what hurting her feelings would earn him, though it had begun to sink into his mind that perhaps she didn’t realize that as a female she was in every way superior to him. Which was a shame. She was an ethereal beauty, unlike any he’d ever seen before with her tufted ears and long fur. Surely a goddess of such elegance and prestige should know her own worth in the world! Curious, Thexxan watched as she piled a bit of snow at his forepaws and on her whuff it spilled over his toes. He wiggled them (as much as a canine can, that is) beneath the fine dusting of snow watching as it melted against the stark ebony of his fur, offering her an amused noise in his throat as he glanced at her as discreetly as he could manage (kind of like a kid peeking over the counter to ensure mum isn’t watching before he sneaks a cookie) to find, curiously, that she seemed bashful despite the stunning intensity of her gaze.
For a moment it constricted his throat, the silent plea that she was attempting to get across. No woman had ever begged him for anything: silent or otherwise. All at once it made him uncomfortable and guilty and he averted his gaze, lowering it from her to his paws before after a few seconds he peeked at her through his lashes. “I’m Thexxan.” He offered her softly. She had yet to breach the barrier of speech with him and he wondered if she was unable to, thus he nervously deigned to fill the moments void of her whines that he — as wolf — understood the gist of well enough with his own vocals all the while hoping that he was not annoying her by speaking. There was a strict rule of thumb in the Rise: males spoke only when spoken to. It was natural for him to feel the need to break said rule but at the same time Thexxan was unable to avoid the slight jitter of anxiousness that followed in the wake of breaking it.
[/td][/tr][/table]The tufted woman did not speak, instead she shimmied nearer until she was stretched out alongside him. To touch! Thexxan’s muscles instinctively tensed at the warmth the streamlined woman offered him was baffling. …Not to mention breaking at least ten rules. Yet, as she had initiated it he did not recoil away from her, wishing to avoid upsetting her. There was no telling what hurting her feelings would earn him, though it had begun to sink into his mind that perhaps she didn’t realize that as a female she was in every way superior to him. Which was a shame. She was an ethereal beauty, unlike any he’d ever seen before with her tufted ears and long fur. Surely a goddess of such elegance and prestige should know her own worth in the world! Curious, Thexxan watched as she piled a bit of snow at his forepaws and on her whuff it spilled over his toes. He wiggled them (as much as a canine can, that is) beneath the fine dusting of snow watching as it melted against the stark ebony of his fur, offering her an amused noise in his throat as he glanced at her as discreetly as he could manage (kind of like a kid peeking over the counter to ensure mum isn’t watching before he sneaks a cookie) to find, curiously, that she seemed bashful despite the stunning intensity of her gaze.
For a moment it constricted his throat, the silent plea that she was attempting to get across. No woman had ever begged him for anything: silent or otherwise. All at once it made him uncomfortable and guilty and he averted his gaze, lowering it from her to his paws before after a few seconds he peeked at her through his lashes. “I’m Thexxan.” He offered her softly. She had yet to breach the barrier of speech with him and he wondered if she was unable to, thus he nervously deigned to fill the moments void of her whines that he — as wolf — understood the gist of well enough with his own vocals all the while hoping that he was not annoying her by speaking. There was a strict rule of thumb in the Rise: males spoke only when spoken to. It was natural for him to feel the need to break said rule but at the same time Thexxan was unable to avoid the slight jitter of anxiousness that followed in the wake of breaking it.
This post is short and disjointed because I keep falling asleeping in the middle.
He averted his gaze, and Coelacanth felt in the broken communion of their eyes an intolerable sense of loss. Had she been able to utter such a sound, a plaintive noise midway between a whine, a wail, and a yip might have burst in protest from her lips — but only the whine emerged, whisper-soft and fragile as a promise. “I’m Thexxan,” he offered quietly as the moments ticked by, his striking eyes coquettish beneath their winged lashes. The exquisite markings that limned them were unlike anything Seelie had seen before, and shyly she investigated them; her tapered muzzle stretched forth with marked hesitation, held taut to the point of trembling as she breathed deeply of the Doctore’s scent. A tremulous exhale would, if Thexxan endured her nearness, fan warmly across his cheek and lashes, carrying with it the sweet spice of berries.
The little Groenendael repositioned herself, pillowing her silken cheek upon her dainty forepaws to watch Thexxan obliquely, glimmering Neptune eyes soft and warm and trusting. They were a dog’s eyes, eager to please and always just a little bit mournful, and they settled upon the regal gladiator’s handsome visage with rapt attention. Seelie’s ink-feathered tail conjured a miniature snowstorm behind her as she bashfully regarded him; then, lifting her finely-sculpted head and tipping her muzzle skyward, she “sang” for him the only way she could: a long and wandering sigh that twisted and doubled back and leapt still higher with a deft twist of her tongue. When her airy aria drifted into silence, the overwhelming hush swallowing up the stirring whisper like the faraway ocean breakers and the churn of the shallows, she bulldozed another tiny mountain of snow with her snout and again toppled it with a whuff to bury his toes.
The little Groenendael repositioned herself, pillowing her silken cheek upon her dainty forepaws to watch Thexxan obliquely, glimmering Neptune eyes soft and warm and trusting. They were a dog’s eyes, eager to please and always just a little bit mournful, and they settled upon the regal gladiator’s handsome visage with rapt attention. Seelie’s ink-feathered tail conjured a miniature snowstorm behind her as she bashfully regarded him; then, lifting her finely-sculpted head and tipping her muzzle skyward, she “sang” for him the only way she could: a long and wandering sigh that twisted and doubled back and leapt still higher with a deft twist of her tongue. When her airy aria drifted into silence, the overwhelming hush swallowing up the stirring whisper like the faraway ocean breakers and the churn of the shallows, she bulldozed another tiny mountain of snow with her snout and again toppled it with a whuff to bury his toes.
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Thexxan held dutifully still as Izel’s — the Nahuatl word for unique unsure what to call her since she hadn’t given him a name — muzzle neared his face. To Thexxan she appeared rather unabashed about being near enough to touch males while all females he’d ever been around only allowed it (not including the reprimanding clamp of jaws to muzzle, etc) when they became receptive and even then it was only the Gladiator that had won her favor that was given such esteemed permissions. Izel did not touch but he felt the warmth of her breath as it fanned against him. Aside from potentially using his scent to familiarize herself with him he wasn’t overly sure what Izel hoped to gleam from it. His natal pack was far from these Wilds and her recognition of them was unlikely. No doubt the Amazon women of the Rise would accept her as they did all females but it would not be Thexxan that led Izel there. Though he was more baffled by her than he was anything else there was a kindness in her that, selfishly, the doctore did not want the Amazons to snuff out.
He watched as she built another mountain of snow upon his paws and unsettled it with another whuff. Just as she had the first time. He watched the cascade of the soft, cold and powered snow over the ink of his paws for a long moment, strangely focused before his gaze flickered, discreetly back to her, habitually hesitant she would snap at him for being so bold. “You don’t speak do you?” Thexxan asked softly, hoping that he did not offend her with his brazen question. At this point, the confirmation that she did not speak was staring him blatantly in the face. She was vocal enough …just not with words. “Can I call you Izel? In the native tongue of my people it means unique.” It was this question that Thexxan asked with uncertain bashfulness, a softness meant to appease in case she didn’t like the idea or the name. Regardless, he thought that it suited her.
[/td][/tr][/table]He watched as she built another mountain of snow upon his paws and unsettled it with another whuff. Just as she had the first time. He watched the cascade of the soft, cold and powered snow over the ink of his paws for a long moment, strangely focused before his gaze flickered, discreetly back to her, habitually hesitant she would snap at him for being so bold. “You don’t speak do you?” Thexxan asked softly, hoping that he did not offend her with his brazen question. At this point, the confirmation that she did not speak was staring him blatantly in the face. She was vocal enough …just not with words. “Can I call you Izel? In the native tongue of my people it means unique.” It was this question that Thexxan asked with uncertain bashfulness, a softness meant to appease in case she didn’t like the idea or the name. Regardless, he thought that it suited her.
Falling asleep! If the powerplay is not okay, let me know and I will change it when I wake up.
Coelacanth waited patiently for the pieces to settle into place, and when the inevitable question finally came — “You don’t speak, do you?” — her expression grew sheepish. Her “no” was in the way her glimmering Neptune gaze dipped away from Thexxan’s to focus with tremulous shyness upon her feathered toes — in the eloquent shake of her finely-sculpted head — and in the bashful smile she offered him as her sumi-e brush tail scribbled an apology in the snow at her hindquarters. Eager to appease him, she shimmied nearer still, and her expression was patently good-natured as she sought to touch him for the first time.
Izel, he named her, and her tail conjured a miniature tornado of crystalline powder in answer. Her eyes, warm and limpid and trusting, swept curiously over the tall, long-legged male’s prone form and settled with lingering diffidence upon his striking visage. His insistence in remaining subservient to her both confused and dissatisfied her — there was potential for greatness in the marrow of his bones; she could sense it! — for she read within it a refusal to accept her own desire to worship and obey. Forced out of her comfort zone, the tiny sheepdog leaned forward to press the wet of her nose softly against the fur of his cheek, imprinting his flesh with her scent. An airy whuff soothed the chill of her touch as she aimed her sights lower and traced his chiseled jawline with the tip of her tongue, tufted, elongated ears folding demurely against her crown.
Izel, he named her, and her tail conjured a miniature tornado of crystalline powder in answer. Her eyes, warm and limpid and trusting, swept curiously over the tall, long-legged male’s prone form and settled with lingering diffidence upon his striking visage. His insistence in remaining subservient to her both confused and dissatisfied her — there was potential for greatness in the marrow of his bones; she could sense it! — for she read within it a refusal to accept her own desire to worship and obey. Forced out of her comfort zone, the tiny sheepdog leaned forward to press the wet of her nose softly against the fur of his cheek, imprinting his flesh with her scent. An airy whuff soothed the chill of her touch as she aimed her sights lower and traced his chiseled jawline with the tip of her tongue, tufted, elongated ears folding demurely against her crown.
January 21, 2017, 05:45 AM
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Izel looked away shyly, supplying Thexxan with the answer that he sought. There was a flush of heat to his cheeks beneath his dark fur as he wondered if his question had come off as insensitive. “I didn’t mean to offend, Izel,” He murmured apologetically, a soft whine rising in his throat. Though she appeared gentle and there was no reason for it, he feared she might lash out at him at any moment. Would he have been so forward with the Amazon women in Coatl’s Rise he certainly would be feeling pain for his brazen questioning, Doctore or not. The lovely and gentle Izel did not lash out at him, instead she shimmied closer still and though it took all of his willpower not to withdraw he, shyly remained in his place, allowing her the closeness that she desired because she desired it. Obedience was conditioned within him since his birth and he held loyally still when he felt her wet nose touch against the fur of his cheek. Where beneath the cool of her nose his cheeks flared with unhindered heat (he was very thankful for fur in that moment). Izel’s touch did not end there to his incredulity! He felt her tongue draw across his jaw shortly after. Flustered because she was undeniably pretty and lavishing him in attention he wasn’t used to — not to mention as a male he didn’t deserve — he let out a fluttery sort of breath as he tried to process the strangeness of it all and his suddenly inability to conjure words. Even if he would have stayed long enough to take advantage of what his rank of Doctore afforded him he knew there would be none of these demure touches. The Amazon women had no interest in Doctores aside from raising the boys they kept, their physical prowess and to provide them with strong daughters (which meant conception was as “brief and to the point” as it could possibly get). Questions lingered on his tongue but Thexxan was too busy trying to puzzle it all out to see if he had regained the ability to use his vocabulary.
[/td][/tr][/table]Barred even the most visceral of vocalizations, the little Groenendael depended heavily on body language to convey what thoughts and feelings she could — and touch was an integral part of that. With Amoxtli she had shared a connection so deeply entwined it had been likened to a shared ESP, and the radio silence of his prolonged absence had given way to a wretched, eternally looping symphony of solitude.
Thexxan’s anxiousness was a palpable, tangible force that assailed the inkdark empath’s bruised heart in emanating waves, and she wanted very badly to comfort him. Her tufted ears pressed timorously against her slender, finely-crafted skull, giving her gentle mien the wide-eyed, smooth-furred appearance of the sea lions she loved, and her feathered tail stirred up a hopeful snowstorm — but her tenderness only seemed to exacerbate the nervousness her new companion felt. Indecision forced her hand; her graceful neck arched as she turned slowly from him to ease his tension, looking numbly out toward the crash of the sea. Marbas’ lesson, thus abandoned, came back to her in a flash of wounded remembrance — do not take liberties with strange wolves! — and desire warred with pragmatism as she battled her own selfishness. Thexxan had offered her no threat — he had not left her alone — he continued to tolerate her ministrations.
The voice was sinister — venomous.
It said: but he does not like you.
Selkie had found purpose in tending her flock and her human, just as Crosscurrent had found purpose in leading his pack — and their wayward daughter, quite evidently without a flock, a human, or a pack, longed for a place of her own. Beyond that, though, she harbored the domestic dog’s obsessive need to be liked.
Turning toward Thexxan abruptly, Izel sought to capture him with a pleading glance — the likes of which had often worked in her favor. Her Neptune eyes glimmered briefly with hope, but she lacked the tenacity of a more assertive female and visibly withered beneath his powder blue gaze. In a last ditch attempt to earn his favor, the inky ingénue got to her paws in one fluid motion, dancing a pace or two away before circling back to him with a quizzical, entreating tilt of her head. Her topline formed an elongated tilde as she bowed to him, and she repeated the gesture in hopes he might follow: bounding a few strides away, then circling back with a tip of her head to the other side. This time, she shimmied backwards a few feet, an airy, toneless whine of invitation causing tendrils of mist to curl from her nostrils and lips.
To her delight, Thexxan followed — and she thought she glimpsed, beyond his veneer of eager-to-please politeness, a pleasure in her company. Whether it was her imagination conjuring something she desperately needed to see or the simple truth was unbeknownst to the sheepdog. What mattered was how they spent their time. She guided him across the river to where he confessed he wished to go and treated him to her treasure trove of ice-encrusted wildberries; and when they finally parted ways, she did not know where she stood — only that he had satisfied the need for companionship, if only for a little while.
Thexxan’s anxiousness was a palpable, tangible force that assailed the inkdark empath’s bruised heart in emanating waves, and she wanted very badly to comfort him. Her tufted ears pressed timorously against her slender, finely-crafted skull, giving her gentle mien the wide-eyed, smooth-furred appearance of the sea lions she loved, and her feathered tail stirred up a hopeful snowstorm — but her tenderness only seemed to exacerbate the nervousness her new companion felt. Indecision forced her hand; her graceful neck arched as she turned slowly from him to ease his tension, looking numbly out toward the crash of the sea. Marbas’ lesson, thus abandoned, came back to her in a flash of wounded remembrance — do not take liberties with strange wolves! — and desire warred with pragmatism as she battled her own selfishness. Thexxan had offered her no threat — he had not left her alone — he continued to tolerate her ministrations.
The voice was sinister — venomous.
It said: but he does not like you.
Selkie had found purpose in tending her flock and her human, just as Crosscurrent had found purpose in leading his pack — and their wayward daughter, quite evidently without a flock, a human, or a pack, longed for a place of her own. Beyond that, though, she harbored the domestic dog’s obsessive need to be liked.
Turning toward Thexxan abruptly, Izel sought to capture him with a pleading glance — the likes of which had often worked in her favor. Her Neptune eyes glimmered briefly with hope, but she lacked the tenacity of a more assertive female and visibly withered beneath his powder blue gaze. In a last ditch attempt to earn his favor, the inky ingénue got to her paws in one fluid motion, dancing a pace or two away before circling back to him with a quizzical, entreating tilt of her head. Her topline formed an elongated tilde as she bowed to him, and she repeated the gesture in hopes he might follow: bounding a few strides away, then circling back with a tip of her head to the other side. This time, she shimmied backwards a few feet, an airy, toneless whine of invitation causing tendrils of mist to curl from her nostrils and lips.
To her delight, Thexxan followed — and she thought she glimpsed, beyond his veneer of eager-to-please politeness, a pleasure in her company. Whether it was her imagination conjuring something she desperately needed to see or the simple truth was unbeknownst to the sheepdog. What mattered was how they spent their time. She guided him across the river to where he confessed he wished to go and treated him to her treasure trove of ice-encrusted wildberries; and when they finally parted ways, she did not know where she stood — only that he had satisfied the need for companionship, if only for a little while.
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