Blackfoot Forest [m] only devils left

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: keeping note for myself: day three.

towhee does not know how to be idle and is far from content to sequester herself away to some hidden corner until this affliction passes. and to her horror that fire returns, burning sweetly and agonizingly through her veins again.

she considers strongly seeking out @Tvar , but refrains because she does not wish to be presumptuous nor impose. so, she tries her best to ignore the yearning in her body and slips out of the safety of bearclaw's borders, cutting a path to the blackfoot forest with ghost flying recon overhead.

her steps slow as she reaches a body of water snaking its way through the trees. it is ice cold as she laps at it and she stares at the water, wondering if the sting of the ice cold liquid would act as a balm, too. she moves into the shallows, hissing as the cold water continues it's path over her paws and ankles. it was very temporary, but her toes soon grow numb and towhee knows it is not enough.

she eyes the water again, truly pondering the wiseness of submerging her whole body in the frigid water.

Another distraction! This one a thousandfold more potent than the last.

Winter’s Wake followed its wreathing scent beneath the snowy boughs, shading his thoughts to a singular focus. Little else need matter in this moment; memories and intentions were cleared away to make space for this new object.

And desire pooled low in his belly when he saw her: long-limbed, dark-hooded, bronze-touched.

A conquest irrefutable, capturing him by sight alone.

Trying to ice away the flames? He called out to the wading figure, teasing.

Cole tracked the scent through the forest, his stride long and deliberate, his nose wrinkling as he followed the trail of Towhee Jr. mingled with something else—Tvar.

So, the bastard had found someone.

The thought twisted in his gut, and Cole’s expression darkened, a grimace forming as the scent of her heat thickened in the crisp winter air. She was so young, too young, and now this. His pace quickened, his jaw tightening as he pressed forward, his thoughts sharp and cutting like the cold air around him.

And then, the scent of another—unmistakable, unwelcome.

He emerged through the trees, his amber eyes narrowing at the sight before him. Towhee Jr. stood in the shallows, the water lapping at her legs, and there, lingering like a shadow, was a figure he recognized. The same male who had pestered Zephyra not long ago.

Cole's lip twitched, his grimace deepening as he stepped into the clearing, his presence deliberate and undeniable. He stopped short of the water, his gaze shifting between the two, lingering on the male with a glare that carried no small measure of warning.

Looks like you found your way back to the wrong place, he growled lowly, his voice steady but firm, a rumble that cut through the quiet like a blade.

she does not hear the stranger's approach, but she watches ghost as the falcon weaves thru the air — a reflex quick warning that someone was approaching in their own shared language — and turns her head to look over her shoulder sharply.

her whole body turns, hackles bristling at the thought of her back being to anyone she does not know nor trust.

towhee eyes him, assessing.

and before she can come to any sort of conclusion another enters the scene. cole. she knows not whether their paths had crossed or if she'd been followed: she had figured out by now that it is the strange scent that lures men in.

she is still, in the water — watching with a mixture of amusement and annoyance: when all she wished was for the ache, the yearning, the burning to stop.

my fingers slipped

towhee’s scent had been a beacon, a thread that he followed with the unswerving devotion of a lover. but the closer he came, the stronger the scent of another—the rogue—became, and the fire in his belly ignited tenfold. fury, possessiveness, protectiveness.

towhee stands in the shallows, the icy water lapping at her legs, and relief warms his chest—she is unharmed. untouched. but the relief is drowned in a tidal wave of rage as his gaze snaps to the rogue male, a pale brute who stands far too close.

unwelcome. jealousy licks at his gut like a flame.

cole is here too—but tvar is far too focused on the rival male encroaching on towhee. practically circling her like a shark, as far as tvar was concerned. unfortunately, not even cole is exempt from his conquest. no other male should be near her—not now, not while she burns with the fire of her season. so, without hesitation, tvar strides forward, pushing past cole, positioning himself squarely between towhee and the rogue. a living wall. a living wall with teeth that he now bares, followed by the distant storm of thunder raucous and raw within a vibrating throat. a gold and black tail arches high; a proud flag, striking dominion over what was his.

you know what's good for you, rogue, he spits, you'll get walking.