Dawnlark Plains rake my teeth 'gainst your beating heart

@Orlaith - using this as another hunting trade thread + forming thread for filling SC caches? wow i really hit my muse this afternoon, lmao. xD

The women had ventured down farther towards the marshes and through to the lark plains, the aspiring huntress breathing in the new scent of spring and growth. And herds. She had never had the pleasure to partake in the large game hunts of her past faerie throng, envious of the position of máistir an fhiach, to sit a feminine thane with her own consort dining on moose and gobbling weed. The allure of the race, the test of stamina, the glory of the kill, to best a creature with a crown of bone and zeal and take his contents to decorate your keep . . . a dream she would never reach. Oh, how she wanted antlers crowns and a rug of a king's fur in her own atelier!

It failed to aid her aspiration while her mother discouraged her dreams of women and victory and weeds and rather wanted her pursue common womanly roles, not that they were to be looked down upon and disregarded with any malice, no, she held her sister with proud regard that she was a faerie matron, she would be vital all her life. But Aoibh would take no husband, nor let him have forbearance in the grandeur of the hunt rather she be a midwife and be his possession for all her days? Well, he had better bring him moose elk crests everyday to prove his worth, best the most vile and incandescent deserts to prove his worth, and not even that is enough. Besides, the only medicine she knew were poppy seeds for a good epoch.

With a promise of a new court (one she still had little trust in the true future in), perhaps she could be the first in their history to be a woman loving máistir an fhiach, something to contemplate after she proved her worth her and now in the great expanse of the dawn-lark plains. Aoibh scouted a bit farther a ways away and spotted mule elk, strayed from her keep and seduced by wanderlust (and the best grass to boast), teeming with a musk she could nto but help wan to deepen her teeth into. End it, have it, everything.

❝ Orlaith, ❞ she whispered quickly, her eyes never leaving the prize . . . she hoped the female had clue on what to do next without chasing her self-made promises of prestige and slpendor away  . . .

Many were the same in the courts, the roles were given upon birth, for their genders determined the course of action. However, she was thankful to be born in a family that did not force such a structure. Her mother, though displeased knew not to do anything else, for she couldn't. A coward, who didn't go against her fathers words, and only urged her daughter to be more splendor, rather then a warrior, become a matriarch for the other woman. A figure- of grace and beauty, but she preferred the brawn and beauty alongside her Papa.

Orlaith does not know how her father thought it all in the beginning, but he cared for her regardless not becoming a male. He trained her, he evolved her to the fire-fairy that she was today, and today she was proud to be one. However he remained silent, even when she chose not to be with another.. She wondered how her parents would feel about her summer flings, that would be kept a secret for now. Her mother would not be pleased, and she wondered how her papa would hunt them down.

While he was within the skies, she would make him proud below with the prize of treasures. She held a collection back home of the antlers and bones of her hunts, but they do not have the proper means to carry them around. Only hidden away, to the poor bastard that would discover her stash. For now, perhaps another one should be made.

Olives followed the alignment of her counterpart, and held a thirsty grin at the mule deer. It was just a younger elk, he was still large, and antlers nicely groomed, but she could tell he was still only getting there. Inexperienced would be a hefty fine, "go right, i'll go left," she whispered, "wait for me to lunge," as there was a perfect chance for everything.

Wait. Back in the the fabled glow of the faerie weald, had her father not told her the same? Be patient dearest, and wait for the fireflies dance. Aoibh was a doubtful peer in her father's eyes, and had yet to master true patience. Perhaps she could (only now) wait a time for an arrival, or be told to wait for a sign, as she was to be now. But wait for opportunity? Wait for the prospect of grandeur to grace her? Wait to beloved and accepted? She had not waited for any of those things, and perhaps it had cost her a place in the faerie court. 

If that was the case, then her sister Deidra, she had no right to banished from the faerie's domain. Unlike her, she had waited for the impending and luminous ball, while the young less than fae was escorted to their own living spaces by her mother.She wasn't particularly fond of the memories spent with her lifegiver, but they did not apply to her now as it would seem.

A slight tip of the head, as graceful as a more than faerie. Soon. That crown would fall of the little king's head and would decorate her own place of trophies and achievements. 

Orlaith had a one-tracked mind, when she had a task at hand, rarely did her mind tend to stray. Focused, she had a prowl while circling the stag, carefully watching for moment. Watched each step he would take, each twist of the head and look at his eyes. She needed to know, where he was going, and if away from the rest. Only a bit of distance would do- for it was an easy scare to startle. Patience was a virtue that they both had, patiently wishing to take the crown upon his head.

He moved away, just enough. Enough where the sovereign lunged in between him, and his herd. Away! They rest scarred off by the sudden movements of the flaming wolf, but she thought they were far too easy to scare. Perhaps, they were lucky he was just but a younger version, and they sought protection to the true king. Nontheless, a crown was a crown, a prince or a king, a princess and a queen, it would be the fairies win.

A success of seperation, Orlaith grinned. It was Aoibh's time to strike.

Her worn pearls unsheathed and brimming with an elated ferocious, spent no time waiting after the diverge of the mule deer's route. They may be tag hunting, but the crown was reserved for her, and she would make it so. She was not aware a it wasn't the true king, perhaps some wayward thane or prince of the ruler's brood and wives. Perhaps if this fact was left without discussion, it would not stain so much on her character record. 

The lady and fae huntress alike groped the now rippling muscles of the male's neck, already tasting what was soon to be a shared celebratory feast for the wrongfully exiled faeries. She wouldn't mind sitting at the head of the carcass, both antlers, tucked nicely next to her and a leg draping over one as she sucked her teeth in triumph. Sticking it to Fionn further more would be excellent, she supposed. Embellishing her fort with reasures and a pelt to widen the eys of any fortunate onlooker . . . yes, the greatest of her kind.

As Aoibh's eyes made wet creases as her grip failed to falter from the neck, as her back legs dragged against the ground wildly, she hoped Orlaith would simply provide that hearty weight so the crown and kill would be hers to claim and revel in later. If the fierey fae dared move for the crown . . . she'd have two hides to decorate her walls. She'd save the heart for her at least. A heart for a hearty and fiery woman seemed fitting enough, yes.