Sleeping Dragon boom boom boom feel it in the mmm

Reposted for timeline/threadlog purposes. Third time's a charm? :/

Set April 21. @Thuringwethil, Magpie is in heat and I was tipsy when I wrote this a few days ago. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It was as if her life had been in slow motion, building with a painful slowness that had made her wish for it to both continue and release all at once. Continue, for the anticipation was pleasant in its own way, and she feared the result-- but release, for she thought she knew what the result could be, and she longed for it. Magpie had been drifting in a limbo for months after her second birthday, knowing what she desired, but both afraid and unsure of how to obtain it. And even when she thought had found a path toward it all, she was more uncertain of the requirement that she leave all her beliefs of love and life behind to pursue it.

Was it worth the sacrifice of the Corvidae tradition she had been raised in...? To give up all opportunities for love, for the one love of another? To give up the change of scenery for the supposed stability of a single homeland? Drageda, itself, had already taught the young woman that even a solid claim did not mean safety; not for Sleeping Dragon, nor the vibrant forest that had preceded Drageda's claim.

She was still unsure, but something had finally awoken within the Corvidae. With the waxing moon, her own desire had grown; but it was a desire that was primal and new, one different than those that had driven her all these months. It was not for children, or power, but a need deep within her body that seemed to have no answer. Magpie was aware of what it meant; it was the need for a male, though that was like to result in children she was not yet prepared to care for, and too early in her tenure as the Dragon's Beta. Her thoughts were of Summer, and his golden eyes that had been only hers. If only they had met now, when they were not too young. She could make him a King, and he could make her a Queen.

Magpie paced, restless; if she had known this was what the awakening would truly be, she would have asked her sister for advice on how to deal with it when there could be no release.

There had been a mix of relief and disappointment upon her return to Sleeping Dragon. They were weary from travel but they bore no wounds, nothing to turn to scars. She'd have no scars to add to her body. It is a good thing, Thuringwethil knows, but she'd been reminded of home in their march, even if they weren't wholly prepared. A victory is a victory, she'd remind herself, and now they only have one threat north of them. Larksong would be an easy task and with pent up frustration from warriors not getting their bloodshed, wiping them clean from the map would satisfy their hunger.

She'd take a few days to herself, stowing off into the follows adjacent to the mountain. Reflection, relaxation, things she didn't necessarily felt she deserved but she needed to reset her mind. She needed to clear her head and make sure heda fit in easily. Her absence barely went noticed and her return is an easy glide back into the mountainous terrain.

A new scent catches her nose, a little off guard, and at first she thinks it to be Gyda. Her time had come to parent, if she'd chosen a male for her picking. One solely of Drageda. Hush and Dio were unlikely candidates, the only males at the time of their discussion, leaving her with two other possibilities. Tatkret wasn't pure Drageda, but Gavriel—

It is a thought that stops when she realizes it is not her queen, but her advisor. A woman her elder, as is Gyda, but Heda had no age. Thuringwethil, while her body not yet at her maturity peak, knows the changes she'll go through. The changes Magpie feels. It's a distant memory, she considers, but a draw nonetheless. Heda had found bodies of different sexes, of ages, and so when she finds the woman, she's drawn some way she can't explain. Maybe she doesn't even want to. Dark slate eyes burn, grow darker, as she closes the distance between them. It does not have the same effect as it might someone her opposite, but Thuringwethil doesn't care.

She noses the soft fur of her rump, indicating her presence after quiet footfalls, and nips gently upon her hip.

She went still at the sound of footsteps, her breath held, because as long as she did not know who it was that approached, she could imagine that it was Summer. Magpie trembled, eyes closing as she remembered the dark silhouette of his body, the wind in his fur as they careened together across the landscape, the molten warmth of his eyes, and the way he made her feel when he looked upon her. His touch on her flank, and his teeth nipping gently at her hip— she shuddered at the feeling, though not out of disgust, and she shifted her hips instinctively.

Her breath released slowly as she realized the touch was not imaginary, and Magpie turned to face the culprit. Her heart skipped a beat at the dark form that greeted her, as the first millisecond of scent registered in her brain only as familiar. It took only moments for the Beta's expression to shift to one of disappointment, then frustration and anger.

There were a hundred competing thoughts and feelings at war in her chest, made worse now that her body was flooding with hormones for the first time. She couldn't bring herself to ask the Heda of the war's result, though presumed it successful for the Commander's casual presence here. And she was startled by the sudden desire to allow Thuringwethil to continue... but, regardless, it seemed that hurt was the emotion to win out and bubble to the surface, "I'm surprised you're not still with my niece. Seems you have a victory to celebrate."

The touch beneath her nose moves and she finds herself closer to the source of what had drawn her nearby. It’s a sweet, metallic scent that has its allure but she knows it is not meant for her. It does not have the same pull as it might a male, something she can only comprehend from a former spirit holder, and even then it’s distance and foreign. Magpie does not quite shy away from her, but her expression changes and Thuringwethil notes the difference from her peripheral vision. Her tongue moves along her own lips, keeping to herself, as she slowly turns back to peer at her beta.

Thuringwethil’s brows knit together at the comment, with a genuine tilt of her head. She doesn’t even know which to reply to, but she brought Wildfire into the discussion for a reason unknown to her.

“I do not understand,” she decides, her own features falling flat, as if she might be disinterested, but the subtle curve of her brows are the only strings of concern.. 

The information had been released upon their return but Thuringwethil had taken a few days to herself and had not found her advisor to explain the details. She determines no one else had, either, but the rage in the woman from the other night had left her unsettled and wanting to repair. Thuringwethil puts a little distance between them, giving the edgy woman her space. “I had taken Wildfire to speak to Saena, in an attempt to settle it, instead of war, but they were gone. The Phoenix wolves are no longer there.”

It had left her a little frustrated, but mostly relieved.

"Ah," Magpie returned airily, turning her head away so the woman would not see the clench of her teeth. Rife with frustration and tangled emotions, the fleimkepa was uncertain of what would spill forth from her heart next. She clung desperately to the logic that usually steadied her, but the hormones that raged through her body kept her mind clouded. I am jealous, was what she wanted to say, if only her pride would allow it. But the Corvidae did not get jealous; not when it came to lovers. That thought was one that truly startled her.

Was she jealous that Wildfire was being taken on a mission that she thought she was meant for? Or was it that it looked an awful lot like her niece and Thuringwethil were, well, involved?

"We have won, then," Magpie repeated finally, a little dumbly— she didn't trust herself to say anything else, "and without bloodshed."

Magpie's words seem tense and forced and even though the woman is facing away from her, Thuringwethil tries to can't her head forward and see the expression across her face. When it's obvious it isn't meant for her to see, she withdraws and shifts so she stands with a bit more space between them. Her mind is lost somewhere, finding a focal point of her shoulder and doesn't let her gaze fall away. It isn't the outcome anyone wanted and she knew she would have been offensive against the Phoenixes—Magpie knew it too—but the closest thing to a peaceful outcome and they are going to get.

"Yes," is all she says then, slowly blinking her slate eyes as she trails up to search the others face again, however discarded from her view she remains.

It was oddly relieving as Thuringwethil backed away to grant the Corvidae her space, and Magpie turned back to face her with a small sigh. There was still the uncomfortable burning in her lower body; somehow, she thought sitting would only serve to exasperate her physical situation. It was like an itch in the recesses of her brain that she couldn't scratch, and it was maddening. She tried to focus on the dark shoulder of her Commander, suddenly finding stability in speaking about anything that wasn't any of her current problems.

"I'm glad you're safe," she said breathlessly, taking an almost drunken step toward the other woman. No, that was too close to what bubbled beneath the surface. Memories of Summer came unbidden, and Magpie felt a sudden wave of attraction slam into her body— she trembled, then froze, as a craving for the woman's teeth upon her hips overtook her. All of this was wholly inappropriate, which had something to do with her earlier rejection, but overriding the heat in her body with cold logic was proving to be a challenge that might break her.

Thuringwethil didn't know much about Magpie other than the skills she's been told but the action has been minimal. When it comes to the personal workings of her advisor, she knows even less. The interactions she has with the other members are beyond her but the idea of a suitor seems farfetched, especially within the confines, but the young leader is distracted. She can barely think herself beyond their little circle and so when Magpie—on weakened legs—takes a step toward her, Thuringwethil doesn't have it in her to retreat.

"Of course I'm safe," she murmurs. Her eyes trail heavily across her features and she realizes not sure why she says m this. She blinks a few times, trying to shake the feeling, hoping it might jog her memory what they had been talking about in the first place.

She knew it was likely because her thoughts and emotions were currently compromised by the flood of hormones, but Magpie couldn't help but draw nearer when the Commander did not retreat. Logically, she knew it would be inappropriate, but she felt powerless to the fire in her blood. It was an innocent enough action, if only it did not linger the way it did; a gentle caress of her tongue against the Heda's cheek, a sign of respect for superiors. Her breath was soft, and as she pulled away her chartreuse eyes dared to look into the slate of the Commander's own, gauging reaction.

"I want," she said softly, but it trailed off into a low whine as Magpie struggled to decipher what it was she did want. Uncertainty plagued her in the Wilds, an affliction that never existed amongst the Corvidae. For the moment, her worries about Wildfire and Thuringwethil were forgotten— there was only this moment and the burning in her body.

Thuringwethil gives up to her heavy gaze so when Magpie's tongue touches her fur, her skin burning beneath the caress. The rest of her becomes weighted and she leans inward, claws digging into the earth to keep her as upright as possible before there's a gap, a small one, but enough space for the other woman to speak her desires. She falls short, and whines, and Thuringwethil quickly mimics the noise.

"Maudlin," she whispers, and swallows the lump in her throat, and a second time when it doesn't work. She closes whatever distance might be between them again, nose gently touching her cheek and below her eye. Thuringwethil gently preens the fur there below her ear, a fleeting moment of how she might have embraced Gyda similarly once upon a time. Harmless, at the time, but the sweet release of Magpie leaves her wondering how male's resist when her own body tremors with anticipation. A protective growl rumbles her chest then before she has to break the touch for fear of searing her own flesh.

A wave of electricity ran itself up and then down her spine; that Thuringwethil spoke her true name was like their own private secret, for the Commander was the only creature in the Wilds that knew it. Magpie had felt this before, but hadn't known the cause until this moment. The realization was as loud as clarion bell, now, and she paused dizzily as she continued to struggle through the logic. She could find none in the burning sensation of her heat, though later she would wonder if these feelings only stirred due to her hormones— and it would torment her. They knew little of each other, and yet Magpie could not deny the attraction she felt.

Thuringwethil's caress blinded her, and the black-and-white female made an odd noise with her throat— one of craving— as the Commander broke contact. "The Corvidae," she began, struggling to make sense of what she wished to communicate. Was the acceptance of her touch and reciprocation permission enough? Magpie didn't know, but even now she knew she did not want to risk it. The loss of Drageda, of Heda. "We love freely, Thuringwethil," she whispered, almost desperate with need, "and completely. That is what I want." This was harder to admit to, at least out loud, especially when they were so near; her voice trembled, then ebbed into another whine. It was difficult to maintain the distance that Thuringwethil had created, but the fleimkepa did not wish to violate it.

Waiting on Magpie feels eternal, drawn out and she worries she might have scared her back a step or two. When she opens her eyes again and finds her companion firmly rooted in her spot, Thuringwethil's loss for words. There's something that doesn't quite feel right, an unnatural thrumming in the back of her head and telling her no, that she isn't meant for this. An echo of teachings she's spent her entire life devoted to since she's been pulled away from her family before she even got to know them. A desire in an empty hole of her chest that is covered up by repetition of old, firmly set ways.

Magpie's voice causes a whine to curdle in the back of her throat and she wishes in that moment for something different. To be born of a different world that she may shed responsibility, but the same disturbing voice only tells her the same thing over and over: this is who you are.

The echo beats in the distant reaches of her mind and she shakes her head. Magpie holds a position for teachings to a world she doesn't know, and so as the words fall from her lips she worries she might not understand: "I can't." It's short, disappointed, and slowly she retracts her position. Even if no one is here to remind her that she is going against the way of Heda, she struggles to keep in line. "I'm not—... Heda can't."

It was torture to suppress her feelings and desires; the Corvidae were oddly selfish in the way they allowed themselves to love, and in a different situation, Magpie might not have shown as much restraint. Ignoring the heat in her body was impossible, and it took all her willpower not to shower the Commander with the caress of her tongue, to not move her body along the other woman's. She understood so little of Thuringwethil's culture, and the Heda herself was a puzzle that the black-and-white female couldn't seem to unlock. Magpie wanted her all the more for it.

Still, the Commander did not vehemently deny her; the fleimkepa could see the struggle in the dark woman's own body language, hear it in the sound of her voice. "Why do you deny yourself, Thuringwethil?" she asked, another whine emerging from her throat. Heda was nothing more than a title to Magpie, and her view of a pack's leaders was that they could do whatever they wanted.

It could be easy, she thinks, to just give in, to ignore everything she'd learn growing up. The others, a year or more older than she, never minded the loneliness She only began to adapt before the conclave, ultimately thrown into the mix after her title. The doubt had been planted early, already proving some of her failure that she knows she can't let her desires surface. Thuringwethil clenches her teeth, slowly shaking her head with another whine and gives herself a moment of weakness.

For a moment, she gives into the urge to disregard the question. She doesn't have to answer. Magpie isn't one of her own, not like the others, but she stiffens. She'd given the woman the title, she was Drageda just as much as the rest of them. Thuringwethil swallows, leaning back to put a few more inches of space between.

"Because," she finally manages, though the words still feel lost on her tongue, "Heda cannot have anything cloud her judgment." It is not much, she knows, but teaching her ways is lost in that moment when she can barely gather her thoughts.