Sunspire Mountains so deep down in your ground

she paced the rock near the edge, where just below the goat perched perfectly out of reach. the creature had fled her poorly timed lunge easily, and she spat under her breath as she drew up near the edge of the rock, leering down at the thing in disgust. it perched on a small ledge to difficult for her to navigate to, but it's hasty climb had it land awkwardly, and blood was an alluring tang in the air. from where it came on the creature she could not pinpoint exactly, but the fact that it lay injured and tired and out of her reach had waves of tension flare off her in multitude.
@Vonn

If there was anything that Vonnaruil had in common with his twin aside from looks, then it was tension and how they both adored coaxing it to its quivering limits. Tension was that delicious, precarious knowing that had you wavering with any soul or situation. Once the otherworldly anticipation that came with it finally peaked, it was so nearly orgasmic. Whether you were falling out of grace or into another’s embrace, the only moments that mattered afterwards was how you left yourself trembling for the unknown of what “next” would bring.

And he could feel it burrowing beneath his ivory coat, nestling into his blood until it made him simmer. With a low, soft groan — half in part because it meant straying from his path — the White Crow veered his attention elsewhere, before his argent, libidinous eyes alit on a rook-dark, gloaming female of utter perfection perched some ways below. 

The faint notch in his muzzle deepened as he outright tongued at his fangs — and as he picked his deft way down through whelp’s play, the tang of blood only piqued his senses more. Slinking upon a ledge above her lashing form, he leisurely stretched out onto his belly, and primly crossed his snowshoe paws at the wrists. It was with a heavy-lidded gaze and drawling curl of his lips that he crooned, in an intimate hum, ”May I be of some assistance, señorita?”

she pulled tightly to the edge of the rock, snapping down at the goat, which had it shift slightly away but make no effort to move off it's ledge. it was injured - too much to allow it to cut across the steep cliff (and to safety) with ease, but not enough to have it simply die and become an easy meal. she unfurled in the manner of a wind stiffened banner to pace again, gaze catching on a snow dusted boulder. voice from above had her head snap up, gaze finding the delicate paws first, the pretty face a moment later. 

tension rippling like summer's heat, she was silent a moment before nodding curtly. "help me move this." a moment later, "I'll share.". with that she gestured to a boulder near the drop-off, just sizable enough to make moving it alone not worth the effort. but with another - 

and there were always more rocks to pelt down on the creature.

Despite the little demon within him that grinned at the prospect of sharing — whether it be the goat, or more, perhaps? — Vonn was never one to leave another in their time of need. Seeing her predicament and taking heed of her gesture, he couldn’t not arrive to her aid.

So, being the fallen that Stigmata had deemed him to be, with a doting ”Of course,” Vonn melted from his snowy perch and glided through the air to her obsidian side. He alit on featherlight paws, only a little ruffled, and regarded the poor goat with his lean flank caressing her own. ”You are most generous, señorita,” a coaxing tone and prowling words, but genuine nonetheless.

Then, with a luxurious stretch of his rounded shoulders, Vonn knelt and thew his weight forward; shoulder, chest and neck flush with the boulder, scarred face worked into a grimace from the strain. There was a sliver of enough room for the wanderess to follow suite.

his words are honey sweet, everying about him pretty and delicate and elegant, and therefore untrustworthy. her mother is the only being who is all she appears to be on the outside, gentle as she is delicate, but she believes other such appearances to be facades until they are proven not. there is strength in the male despite his featherlight step, she ought to have expected it from the scars on his face. she moves in besides him and stiffens tensed muscles against the rock. in a moment, too, it shifts and grinds towards the edge, suddenly lighter now that it is moving. it reaches the edge and does not waste a moment in its swift and short drop. 

the goat, flighty and distressed as it is, sees the boulder only as a last straw. it makes a desperate bid for freedom, and laucnhes itself across the near-horizontal incline. for a moment, two, it seems to be making an escape, but then it falters. wounded limb can not take the stress forced upon it and crumples, the goat oddly silent as it crumples, folds, and falls.

it is at the bottom of the cliff a moment later, twitching morosely. tongue flicks across her lips as already she tastes the explosion of blood against her canines, and with a brief gesture she indicates or the male to follow; they will take the long way down. the trail has them cut back and around, and without waiting to see if he will follow she begins the trek downward.

sorry for super short weird post-

The black huntress was right to distrust him — from the tiento of his paws to the lazy husk of his words, she was left with no choice but to distrust him. For all she knew, he could easily ghost along the crags and thieve this goat from her. He could Vonnaruil barely heeded the sudden death of her find, keeping to himself as he watched her begin her descent. Instead let the less salacious thoughts weigh in favor of something else (read: fufilling his life debt to that abstinant mountain-king.)

Regardless, he followed her along the precarious, rocky path, keeping an eye out for any disturbances or lack of footholds should she end up slipping—or himself, of course. For a time, as they neared ever-closer to the dying goat, the debt momentarily left his mind as he focused on the task at hand.

the moved in silent tandem along the rock until they were within a few tail-lengths of the goat, which lay twisted on the rock. morbidly, cinematically, a slow pool of crimson spread along the rock. she found a place near the rear of the creature, tear flesh and skin quickly as the creature's chest fluttered shallowly; it lived still, but lingered so near the brink of oblivion that it took little notice of the woman. she gestured neatly for the ivory man to join her, gaze lingering on him as she tore through sinew and tissue. 

she knew better than to let down her guard merely because the hunt had found completion, there was every chance that the male wouldn't be happy with half and seek to drive her off the moment she dropped her attention. besides, some other part of her dearly wished to see the pretty white pelt marred with red.