Kildeer Rest vòlkan [m]

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: heat thread #3, mireille is still aggro

meat. sweet water. sleep. bracken. snow.
she had surrendered to the wild search, mireille. her days were marked by light and the men which seemed to appear in all directions.
the seawolf was a beacon of red and a bouquet which billowed on the breeze. in the early evening she called out, singing high into the doming atmosphere for another consort.

gently kicks him in here hi ily

He’d gotten separated from Ahu.

It didn’t matter. It. Didn’t. Matter.

He told himself this as he kept up a good clip back to the south. Towards the mesa once again, though this time he returned as priest would be different.

So the gods demanded.

He’d sent Andesha ahead to tell the wolves of Akashingo he was coming back, to inform each and every one she could find. She knew what he wanted. She would announce his arrival.

It was a path predestined.

Only..something changed. A scent curved into his nostrils and pulled his head towards it, like he was a bull with a rope attached to a nose ring. Moments later would his ears pick up the howl. He stopped, stock still, instinct pinging against the back of his skull warring with the part that wanted the cushy curl of Akashingo’s weight back on his shoulders.

The priest let a breath billow from his nose, his brown eyes tracking across the frozen earth to find her. A red beacon, wild to his domestic slimness. He picked up the plume of his tail, letting it bob behind him, level with his shoulders.

He answered her call, after a moment of wrestling with the thought, taking a little step forward to bark in the woman’s general direction. He didn’t dare come closer, in case the instinct was to beat the godliness out of a sickened heathen. He didn’t want to catch some odd illness from the wild woman.

hello ilyt

wolf. unwolf. not wolf. 
he was tall and pale to her shorter height and gaudy red. mireille observed the nonlupine figure of him and pushed her nose into the wind, seeking more as her curiosity mounted.
he did not come closer.
nor did mireille.
instead she postured, flaunting the curve of her well-loved hips. she howled again, the end silken. did he dare to come close, to approach? to be tested?
her first lover had left his marks in her flesh. what sort of man was this?

Again did her wild voice ring in his ears, and the silky tresses shifted up for just a moment, then swept forward with intent. Akhtar lowered his head, peering curiously at the woman across the way.

She was red, and small, and he could just barely pick up the color of her emerald eyes from this distance. The sighthound waved the end of his tail as it curled up over the rest of his furred tail. 

He released his own sound, a low noise that became a hound’s bay. He took several steps forward at that, voice thrumming in his chest. A song his ancestors knew, passed through bone and blood and the curls of dna and his own fur.

Call it seduction. Akhtar called it art.

his voice wound around her, confirming that he was no wolf. he bayed like the first man had called for the red blood in her body, and shed it also. mireille still rode the adrenaline of that as she reared, pawing the air; she landed with a loud chuff, spurring him closer and closer.
and when she could see all of him; the curious ears, the piercing eyes; she chuckled gently and this time, because he was not a wolf-man, found herself more yielding to any inspection of her frame he might indulge.

She reared like a mare, her legs striking the air in front of her in a vision of fire. His eyes widened at the very edges, before he came ever closer.

He was nothing if not trusting of a fire. His ancestors lay beside them, rough hands carding through their fur, tossing them a bone. There were no rough hands here.

He came with dancing steps, out of the circle of ivory in her maw, ever cautious but ever so curious. He let his voice rise again, a musical note that hummed through his throat and his maw. Akhtar, starborn prince, circled closer, mapping her curiously.

He didn’t speak. It didn’t feel right to.

there was no place for words. where he looked he would only find pride. challenge. mireille felt she had conquered men now, and appreciated his caution, for she was ready to singe him if he misstepped.
her edges did not melt as the snowy creature drew around. mireille fixed him with her greengem stare and waited for his daring to sharpen, for his hungriness to intensify. for him to come closer.

Hop hop hop, he hopped closer, careful and cautious, slinking like an alleyway tomcat. He held his plumed tail low.

She simmered power into the air like heat on pavement. Akhtar licked his nose, unsure of the push in his chest. 

Step step step, half a dance, half an elaborate twist from teeth. But, he grew bolder, even though his head was held streamlined to his shoulders, and he finally breached that circle of teeth. He opened with a little croon, the tip of his tail brushing his own hip as it curled in on itself

worship, she had commanded the first, this sea royal come inland to slum. and worship was how he had given her pleasure. but she was hungry for others, for as many to be gathered as baubles. this stranger was near worshipful; a singer; a bardic wonder in a wild territory.
mireille shut her eyes with a low rumble. not affable. not approachable; not tameable. but she stood content for now, assured of her own strength and pull over the alabaster unwolf.
how would he prove his reverence now?

Akhtar was a priest.

Had he knees, he would have hit them. Would have crawled, supplicant, to her feet and laid there like a spoiled pet.

He knew worship.

He lowered his chest and his stomach to brush the ground, slowly moving closer, his head brushing the ground.

He crooned a little note, a small request. An ask to come closer, even as he did anyway, very slowly.

mireille's breath escaped her in a throated sound of surprise and desire. she allowed him to gravel upon the cold earth; she lifted a paw and placed it upon his smooth flaxen coat, clutching the texture there with a low sigh.
her eyes met his own, and somehow she understood that he had something quite different to offer. her body softened warmly against his own.
rise.
rise and embrace me.
in her eyes, the missive; her mouth remained silent.

It worked.

The red woman, red mare, odd red goddess given the form of a mortal he could not identify, bid him rise in no words, but in the shape of those eyes.

He rose, but kept his head down, his tail low. It wasn’t the forced submission of his youth, nor was it entirely willful, in some way. Akhtar wanted this, wanted her in a way he couldn’t place in his own head, the same way he had once wanted Belen but knew he could not have her.

She belonged to the mesa, this woman belonged outside of his reach. Akhtar knew this in the way he knew the voices of conquerors and how to simper so they would allow you life.

He came closer, after a time, gently pressing his shoulder to her own, never letting his eyes leave her.

in them she found a form of serenity.
mireille pushed their chests together, feeling the cadence of their hearts adjust; touch; not romance but the intimacy given by anonymous persons in a garden of eden.
her eyes, they did pull away somewhat; mireille was half-lidded and unhurried as she touched him, her scent cloaking red and white pelts, her lips exploring and her senses filling with the man who sought to make her a deity.
each moment could be an eon if allowed; she looked to him now, assured by shy beneath the veil.

They were but passing ships in the night.

Tomorrow, who knew where they would be. Akhtar in his gilded halls, the woman in red back on the hunt or ascended back into the ethereal plane. Who knew what would become of them the moment their eyes left each other.

But then was not now. Akhtar was here now, in this moment, enraptured.

He mouthed along her shoulder blades, ruffling the fur then immediately smoothing it back into place in deference. His eyes found her own, sea glass green against his earthen brown, and he tried for an expression beyond helpless acolyte. Something he did not achieve, but it didn’t bother him all too much.

she shivered beneath his touch, shifting. moving; to offer her own; to take his breath; to sing into his ears a low and gentle sound of encouragement.
their gazes; solemn.
at length mireille drew away and ran her form along him, to feel the length of his marvelous body, to wheel dizzily between earth and sky and him.
soon, so soon; she purred against his own nape now and urged him on with a trailing lick to his muzzle, the curve of her body turning for his arms to embrace.
mireille did not glance back this time, only laughed softly, richly, once.

She wheeled away, Akhtar’s head spinning with the movement as he tried to follow her with his eyes, only succeeding in making himself dizzy.

He gave a quick shake of his fineboned head, peering at the red goddess in front of him, the rich tones of her laughter curling into his ears. It was here, in the unseen, that his eyes would darken with intent, and his steps would solidify.

She was a goddess. And he was a high priest. What better a match she could have made than him? He entertained the thought of staying, let it dance before him like a court jester. Then, he set it to the side.

Ponder later, he told himself, striding to meet the woman.

Movement now.

He would draw her into him, and he would let the world drown out around him.

he was gentle; it was mireille's prevailing impression of him. she twined their voices together and became a conflagration below his own body.

***

much as the glacier man had taken, mireille supped at the body of this one until they were both spent and shaking. in one moment she went from calm and fragranced docility into the next, a warlike moment that cut through her with adrenaline.
he had touched her as a priest might.
now mireille lifted a lip, suggesting his delightful supplication was at an end. her eyes caressed the lines of his jaw.

He was exhausted in that moment, quivering like a colt finding its legs for the first time. He stumbled, just a bit, but righted his legs with a moment’s pause.

His eyes caught the lift of a lip, the suggestion of violence bringing his ears back and his head back down.

Right then. The moment was over, it seemed.

He took a few steps away, then lingered, as if wondering if this was some kind of test. Would she call him back? Send him away? Leave him be? He couldn’t say why, but he was curious about it, like a scientist mixing chemicals without a care to see if they would explode.

mireille was warmed by him, pliable, sated; she gathered these things into a flail and bludgeoned the man with a lunge.
where she had been soft a moment ago, the seawolf was a knife now; she sliced through the air with a growl.
get away
she was regretful with this one, but so far it had been her standard. if he stood his ground she would show teeth; if he ran she would not pursue.

She lunged, and that was all that was needed to break the tether.

Akhtar bounded out of the range of her rage, flailing limbs and shaking, chattering teeth. He  did not hang around a second time.

He cast a regretful glance over one shoulder, then began to lope to the south. He did not know her name. Perhaps he was never worthy of it to begin with. No matter.

The Mesa called him home.