Porcupine Ridge leshen

continued

at @Ketzia's question, the smoke-ridden hound only hummed bemusedly in response before turning to lead her through flurry and mound, on a hunt virtually for her satisfaction. she had asked to know him, and considering he was superb provider, it seemed most logical to him that she would be most interested to know this. the fact that she wanted to participate in the process wasn't doing him any harm, and if anything he was more impressed by her willingness to share in the task rather than sit back and be served.

she became more promising by the minute, and stigmata was eager to impress upon her his willingness to serve, even as an esteemed leader.

he moved quickly and in relative silence, not once bothering to query after something personal of the she-wolf, or even her name. he was still in the process of earning such things, and often didn't see the use in knowing someone's name before feeling fully engaged with them himself. he was interested, of course, but first there was business afoot.

the hunter scoured across the ridge relentlessly until he caught a line of deer tracks in the snow - a lone pair, with oddly staggered prints. the telling trail of an animal already meandering on death's door. he paused to look at this night's companion, and searched her for any interest in this pursuit.

She loped after her lumbering companion—amusement gracing his dark features, but not once did he speak more of his intention to her. A game of wildly random flirtations, the pale sylph could not help but feel slightly relieved at the distraction he had put before her. She had gained the attention of men before, and had taken part in casual flirtations, but never had she sought more. Her seasons had always come and gone without anything eventful to note—the one temptation she held had long since disappeared from her life. It was a cause for concern this year, given her rogue status, that she was certain she would need to steal away somewhere particularly secluded to avoid unwanted attention.

With this as her inexperience, Ketzia found her pace easing as she moved after the beast, knowing that even past her instant attraction to him, he was capable as providing his pack as a leader—this was what she sought above all else.

She had missed the ease of companionship one could feel with another, and sidling up to his side, the lissome dove was not quite willing to drop their previous dance completely, and the faintest brush of her fur would meld to his, the barest graze of fur tip to fur tip. Her nose quivered at the scent, and as her eyes took to the malformed hoof prints, she felt her brows lifting on their own accord, and admitted solemnly in a whisper of smoke: “It’s been so long since I’ve tasted deer.”

stigmata loved nothing more than the feel of his own churning muscles, paired by the reflective heat of a companion at his side. he craved this bond, and action itself, but he was a wolf that needed few, if any, words to remain engaged. he made no accommodations in his pace for the lithe beauty keeping stride, and she proved herself a worthy travelmate, if not at least capable of putting on a good show.

the ironwraith spared her not a single glance; lest he reveal his hand - the impulse to have her near, closer even than they were now - before he had earned her favor. he felt her like static along his rugged, bristled edges, urging their bodies to collide, and it took thoughts of his entire military career to refrain from simply adhering himself to her.

beneath a gentle curtain of snowfall, he heard her murmur a regret; a sad, sweet sound meant to guide him to her desires, and allow him ample room to fulfill them. "is that so?" he glanced across her face then, for the first time while. her almond-shaped eyes stuck out against her buttercream countenance, giving him pause, but only for a fraction of a moment. "then let it be that way no longer," he declared, turning forward once more to surge after the staggering trail.

as the pair of them - smoke and stained ivory - crested a low rise, they observed their intended target: a collapsed buck, well past his prime and then some, but not yet called to his grave. toothed reapers loomed over him now, and the once great ungulate, still incredibly sharp of mind, knew at once that they were there. the deer got his feet, but it was clear by the way his legs quaked and bent outwards, that some weight-bearing bone or another had broken some time ago and he had never fully recovered from it. he would never recover from it.

stigmata at last pressed his basilisk body into the lean seraph now, urging her into the direction he wanted her to cover - the rear - before he slunk forward to face the horned patriarch head on; distracting the deadly front so that his hunting companion might rend the deer's vulnerable mid- or hindquarters into a bloody spigot.

She did not respond to his rumbled countenance, and together the two moved fluidly across the stark trails of the ridge. Drifting lower until their stalked prey came to view, the ivory sylph felt the coil of anticipation unfurling within her breast. Her breath hitched at the touch of the warhound, and without word, she moved in the direction he suggested, her ears pressed forward as she skirted the injured beast.
 
It bellowed lowly—knowing their intention, and a final effort to intimidate. The stomp of hoof to ground did little to dissuade her, and as her peripheral vision caught sight of the ashen male taking the front of the hunt she felt brazen in her efforts.
 
She struck, venomous like a snake, a low snarl issuing from her muzzle as teeth tore the flesh along the tender hind limb that met torso. No sooner did the copper taste of blood press to her lips did she leap away from a swing of its horn as it bleated, a sprite on her once weary paws, vigorous now with her intent.
 
Skirting around to avoid the injured deer’s clumsy attempt, she dove for another grab of meat, this time closer to the deer’s hip and bone, hoping to have another shot at the wound she had previously inflicted.

they harried him like a pair of ghosts; a devil and an angel come to soul-collect. the tortured behemoth used valiant efforts to rebuke the jarring pair, but none that could eclipse their superior work. stigmata had almost very little to do himself, with his companion's expert flourish, but even her firework blasts that left the snow splashed blood-black in the night, were not enough to completely incapacitate their foe.

wounded twice now - severely - the twelve-tined patriarch brayed into the thick, freckled-white darkness and pitched forward as his front limbs buckled. it swung its massive skull at the honeyed virago, horns slow but no less stalwart. the smokewraith dove in to pierce the proud beast's neck, and upon his retreat received a blooming cut across the top of his shoulder from a lucky toss of the deer's head.

he stood back, panting through his adrenaline before lifting his chin stiffly; watching as this third deathblow began to drain their quarry at a newly tripled rate. the stag gurgled and collapsed, strength gone and fight finished. the creature heaved and sputtered weakly, and even still was likely not to be dead before the wolves began their feast.

The beast staggered—it fought. Stigmata delivered its final blow, which was fitting. The snow was stained red, and the gypsy curled her tongue delicately along her own lips, trying to clean the crimson stain that now marred her pelt. Glancing to him sideways, the she-wolf remained respectful in her graceful posture—the sylph’s tail curling neutralizing along the back of her legs as he feasted first, as was befitting an Alpha.

She contemplated their fell in silence, her ears sliding back to her skull as she contemplated the emotions that furled in her chest. It had been awhile since camaraderie had been so apparent to her, and she found the war hound’s presence comforting.

Her eyes slid over him, a light frown pulling at her delicate features. “You’re hurt,” she purled in her smoky voice, tentatively taking a step toward him.

with such a large kill, stigmata had no qualms with eating simultaneous to his comrades, and though he displayed no signs of impeding her, the honeyed nisse seemed loathe to interrupt the male's banquet. he let her be shy, or respectful, as some would call it, and he had his fill quickly, before too much snow could melt onto their steaming meal.

he turned an ear as he heard her speak, and plucked himself away from the carcass with syrupy squelch. viscera jiggled inelegantly from a corner of his mouth as he turned towards a bodily ringing he hadn't noticed until she'd called attention to it. the wound was superficial - to him - but it had an intimidating red gleam dripping beneath a long, clear, sinew-pink line of exposed flesh. deep enough that it would be tender for up to a week or more; thin enough that it was already half-hidden in the black smear of his thick, smoky fur. "so i am," he observed bemusedly, craning his neck to better see the soon-to-be scar.

a tattoo of their first meeting.

he looked at her now, almost pointedly holding her gaze as he trotted several feet from their bounty and slipped into a prone position, like he had before their hunt. he waited to see what she would do, and in what order would she do it.

The male slid down before her—regal in his posture, his eyes sharp upon her. She felt the flush in her cheeks, but her own bright gaze daringly held close to his own, and as the beast ambled forward, his paws and belly hitting the ground, she skirted toward him, the movement losing her hesitance with each step.

Her nose barely gazed him then, inhaling his scent and watching him with a cautious eye. Crooning softly, the ivory maiden nosed at his shoulder gently, should he allow it, nibbling at the dark fur just along the wound. Casting a sideways glance to him, Ketzia cautiously lowered herself toward a better angle, beginning to clean the wound, lest it fester. For all she knew, she was sidled next to a ticking bomb.

Still, she tried to hold back a small smile, though the corners of her lips quirked upward despite herself as amusement laced her wispy voice. “This won’t do. Now you’ll have to show me the others you might have that could tempt me.”

a warm tremble reared along the length of his long spine as he watched her approach. the warhound noted the buoyancy in her step, and knew that her adrenaline was not all the way spent, driving him to consider terrible ways in which to tire her - wounds be damned. stigmata remained still, however, watching her with a mixture of rapture and suspicion.

his lip curled as the damp leathers of her nose touched his shoulder; the muscles twitching sensitively as he pulled away from her slightly. but her crooning soothed him, and her careful, gentle insistence calmed him further until he had hunkered into his position, allowing her to clean his wound. an act typically reserved for closer wolves, the ironwraith was surprised at the nearness but not disagreeable to it. she had proved herself more than capable, cautious, and amenable - she smelled to be healthy and of breeding age - giving stigmata little to no reason to want to refuse her. if anything, it was pertinent that he have her.

to her comment, he eyed her slyly, his expression sharpening to a devilish point. "i will show you to them," he rumbled coyly; voice low and magnetizing. "but what kind of wolf would i be, if i allowed your temptations to stray?" it was rhetorical in nature, and he didn't seem to look at her for an answer. rather, he turned his muzzle away - a sign of trust as he (at last) stopped hawking over her - looking in the direction of his wolves, and he said softly, onto the wind: "may i ask your name?"

The coiled tension in her chest relaxed as the beast breathed out, accepting the ministrations the sylph doled to him. The wound was not a grievous one—as long as it did not become infected, and as she continued to clean the injury, she could feel the shift of rising amusement as he eyed her, her own gaze flitting to his, wrought with perceived innocence.

His words drew a small smile to grace her lips, but she did not answer. Whatever wolves followed the dark wraith were undoubtedly like in mind with him, and she found herself desiring to meet them—to run with them. To place her loyalty and potential once more into another. And hopefully, this time, she would not be let down.

She finished cleansing him, and shifting her weight, the she-wolf slithered closer to the their fell, her jaws working at tearing some of the meat and organ for herself, barely containing rumbling growl of pleasure. Only after moments did she slither her way back to the ground, her own lissome form beside him, but allowing him his space.

Her tongue smoothed over her lips, her ears jutting forward at his request of her name. “Ketzia,” she responded, every fibre of her being very aware of his closeness. “What can I call you?”

godiva? regina? mavourneen?

ketzia.

the blacksmoke wolf turned his muzzle towards her again, angling its spear-end towards the ground, and photographed her with his sharp nickel gaze. she was vibrant, priceless ivory with two spring-grass gems, and if she had been beautiful before, he thought her simply stunning with a napkin of blood down her chin and chest. "stigmata," he revealed. "of diaspora."

fade?? AND MORE THREADS???

Stigmata of Diaspora. She took this knowledge quietly, casting him stolen glances every so often. The bullet shade of his gaze lingered on her, stirring her. 

She did not know what lie ahead for her, what their interlude meant, only that she was tempted to explore the man before her and his pack further.