Duck Lake [m] watch the fall

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[thread backdated to hell] U KNOW WHO

Night clouds unfurled tenderly from a leering moonface above. Curtain-slits of light illuminated a valley lake that glittered like onyx in the dark. And though the lakeside was often full of noise during the day, the only sounds at this hour were the serenading crickets and the gentle lapping of the water.

Wreathed in a beckoning scent, River languished on a bed of lake reeds and duck feathers, having feasted on several of the waterfowl throughout the day. She now rolled upon her spoils as if to leave her mark upon this place before departing, a few of the iridescent quills becoming lodged into her coat.

Fed and well rested, it felt time to resume her prowl to sate a different kind of hunger.

The lake drew him—not for any particular reason, though when the wind shifted just slightly… there was something more that certainly beckoned him.

Thus far, the man had managed to maintain his firm reasoning that to be a father would be a death sentence to those born of his blood—trial and error had already proved this hypothesis, and it hadn’t been questioned much from him.

But did that mean when his pale champagne eyes cast upon the fluid motion of a she-wolf lavishing in her element—a myriad of downy duck feathers drifting around her with the motion.

Amusement pressed upon him, but he spoke nothing—languid in his own motions as she drew up—a few of the remaining feathers stubbornly clinging to a frame he unabashedly allowed his eyes to rove.

When she met those pale, pale eyes in the dark, River froze on the spot, pulse quickening.

But another break in the clouds, and the living shadow assumed wolfshape; a stalwart, frost-caped figure made of cast iron. The thud of her heart refused to slow, even as she determined that there was no obvious threat anywhere along his rugged lines.

By inches, River crept her posture back into an easement. How long have you been there? she wondered aloud, voice almost a laugh. It seemed a dip in her vigilance had occurred, which was both ironic (given how vulnerable she was) and expected (given the haze of hormones clouding her every action and decision). At least she didn’t have to wonder what had drawn him this near; she was sure her hunger had manifested the dreamshadow.

Muzzle lifting, her nose worked to detect his cologne, but the wind did not favor her. Tch.

Pressing her ears forward to regard him shrewdly, feathers glinting, she gestured for him to come nearer. You’ve got my scent. It’s only fair to share yours.