Shadewood that's not my name

@Nero or @Darcia (or both, I definitely don't mind)

And so again, Djehanne found herself in the sticky, humid atmosphere beneath the outstretched arms of the oak and elm. She hadn't meant to wander back in this direction; in fact, she'd planned to continue south until she wandered upon a border and a pack to settle into. There was just something so peculiar and comforting about the space that, in truth, Djehanne couldn't have resisted if she tried with everything she had. As she sauntered toward a slow-running stream not far off, she thought about what it could have been that attracted her so. 

Perhaps it was the weather; the warmth provided a much needed change from the cold of the coast. Of course, this was not true as there was no comfort to be had with a still-thinning coat as thick as her own. For a moment, she thought that maybe it was the life teeming around her. This was also false, as it seemed most of the other life she'd come across had been in the form of ticks and mosquitos. And then it hit her!; Nero. 

It had been a pleasure to have had his company. He had been so unexpectedly kind and patient with the mute that, in honesty, a piece of her had fallen for him right then and there (that might have proven significant if it wasn't an almost daily occurence). And so she sat, right back beside the stream, waiting for him to find her again.

Nero is not sure what made him return to the Shadewood for, truly, he had not meant to. Not because he had a bad experience with the man who intends to stake claim upon it. On the contrary, Darcia haunts his subconscious in the most …delectable of ways but rather it was borne of a hasty but ironclad respect he feels for the titan. Nero knows he would not be pleased if strangers were traipsing all over the land he sought to claim, after all. He’d meant to head East. He meant to search for Stavanger Bay, Horizon Ridge and Maplewood Forest, the places where Mercury has once inhabited out of a sudden borne whim but no real motive behind it. He does not necessarily seek anything. He uses them as a distraction, to keep him from thinking too far ahead about what he plans to do. He doesn’t know. He knows, eventually, that summer will wane and he will be forced to seek sanctuary with a pack to ride out the winter months or he will risk starving to death but as it is not currently a pressing need he attempts to focus upon his present, as he has done since he fled Mount Pompeii with no true destination in his mind.

A familiar perfume tickles at his black, leathery nostrils and they flare as he drinks it in, subconsciously following it deeper into the Shadewood. Her lithe frame comes into view, her pale pelage standing out in stark contrast against the dark, earthen colors painted all around her: rich browns and mahoganies of ground and trees, striking emeralds of the foliage that grows in eager abundance. Tacita. “Infernal nymph,” The Macedonian greets her in a quiet rumble as he approaches, stopping a few feet away, eyes of imperial jade focusing upon her.

Long before he'd even come into sight, Djehanne had known Nero was near. His warm voice pulled a breath from her chest, though she remained still other than a slight tilt of her head. Infernal nymph, he had called her, and she remembered the name he'd called her before.

Tacita. 

A thin grin was forming on her maw, though she was taking every precaution necessary to keep him from seeing it. There were no indications that she'd heard him other than the slow wag of her tail behind her and the gentle twitch of her ears. A certain excitement brewed within her; the meeting she'd had with the other suitor was quick-paced and exhilirating, but her time with Nero had been heady and sensual like nothing she'd had before.

But perhaps she was getting a bit ahead of herself.

Nero does not expect verbal response from her for she is a mute of her own will …and perhaps something else: an injury to her vocal chords that he cannot visibly see, surely. Predictably, Tacita does not speak — a small head tilt and wag of her tail is all he receives. For Nero, it is sufficient. Irises of imperial jade take her in slowly, appreciatively like a maestro studying artwork that is not his own but that he knows is infinitely more beautiful than anything he could ever produce. He appreciates the supple, softened curves of her body in a much different way than he appreciates the hard muscles and Adonic body of his own sex; but both strike him and ignite him in different ways that are, at their core, of the same vein. “You linger here still,” The Macedonian muses aloud, surprised to find her in the same territory that he first met her. Though he is not sure if it is her being here or himself that surprises him most. Already, he knows his intentions were to head north and then east if only because he lacks direction of what to do with himself. He has not thought that far ahead and it is unlikely that he will. Even the most meticulously laid plans can be upheaved by a small twist of Fate, after all. He’d known his future once. It had been contingent upon whether he could take the life of Manakin or watch him suffer until he eventually gave up his fight; Nero’s issue had been that Manakin was not a small, broken and wailing newborn but rather an almost adult. He had voice, he had fight. He had a choice and the runt of the his littermate had not wished to die. Not by his defects and certainty not by the teeth of his protector.

He shuts the doors to those thoughts firmly (rather slams them closed in the hopes they will not resurface), seeking distraction by the infernal nymph before him. He closes the distance with purpose and seeks to press his nose to the junction of where her jaw meets her throat. He does not hesitate but she has ample opportunity to deflect his touch if she does not wish for it.

His approach was by no means silent, but by the way Tacita ignored it, one might have thought he moved with more precision than a gaurd of the night. Her muscles tensed as his breath fell upon the crook of her neck, but relaxed once she felt his touch. She was so loosely gathered that for a moment, she thought even the most gentle evening breeze could have sent her flying in a million different directions. With a quiet rumble and a slight turn of her head, Tacita thought that perhaps Nero wouldn't mind a game akin to that which she had played with the mystery male.

She stood and walked a few paces away, her tail turning carefully above her back. She looked back at him with a blank expression, but eyes that held every written invitation he could have needed. Then, without warning, she took off, hoping he would give chase.

She does not shy away from it, and the vespertine lets out a low noise akin to a softened but mighty feline’s purr. Tacita allows it, briefly, but like the infernal nymph he has named her for she is flighty, he thinks as she lets out a quiet rumble and turns her head away slightly. For a small moment Nero wonders if he should feel jilted: like a lover whose face has slipped from betwixt his hands that only seek assurance that they are real with gentle and sensual caresses. For a moment the would-be-Emperor does feel jilted: scorned and torn between pursuit and demand as King Peleus demanded the ocean sprite Thetis and of her womb bore him Achilles but with great reluctance. No, Nero thinks: he does not want that. It is in his nature, surely, for the scales of good and evil cannot balance without the other but such is not his wish. That is not the kind of man he is.

She turns her back to him and walks away a few steps, her tail curling over her back. Imperial, jade gaze watches her with a billion questions that he refuses to give voice to — besides what good would it do for him to voice them aloud? — and she looks back at him with a blank expression but with invitation in her gaze. She darts off into the foliage. A chase! She invites him to chase her but for what premise? What awaits at the end of the chase? The umbra jaguar is long-legged and sleek, built for speed as opposed to brute force and he thinks that even with her head start he can catch her. He lunges forward allowing her the game, following her scent trail for the that infernal plague of curiosity would not allow him anything else.

And just like that, Nero had given in. Tacita snorted a heavy breath of air in place of the childish giggle she was sure he would have preferred, then weaved around a corner into a small puddle. Her feet continued dashing across the ground, kicking up dirt behind them as they went. Before her appeared a large sequoia with a large enough hole at its base for her to snake through, though when she attempted, her hindleg faulted and she fell onto her back before escaping. 

Tacita yelped in pain, as she was sure she'd cut herself at some point, but she stood back up and continued making her way through. At this point, Nero would have been close enough to catch her if he so pleased, and she wouldn't have argued with it one bit. Still, she couldn't help but shake the ache in her thigh, despite the exhilirating blood and chemicals pumping through her veins.

Nero does not expect a yelp of pain to penetrate the still, quieted air of the Shadewood as Tacita leads him on the pursuit and when it does his pace falters for a moment — long enough for smoky umbra hackles to bristle with unease as it disturbs the birds overhead before he picks it back up knowing it comes from the infernal nymph though he is surprised by the volume she has mustered and wonders if she has been holding out on him. If her silence is by choice. It is not the first time the Macedonian has wondered such a thing; but he does not focus upon it in the knowledge that she is hurt. He will be of no use but because she has given herself a head start he is unsure whether her cry of pain stems from accident or attack.

He has caught up to her but does not tackle her to the ground as he might have prior to her injury. He lets out a low woof to communicate that he has found her, that he has caught her and for her own safety that the chase should be ended. To continue it on might risk permanent injury to herself. He can smell the pungent, metallic scent of blood upon the air and the DiSarinno approaches her (content to find that it does not appear to be by an attack!) to investigate the cut upon her thigh. “Your wound needs tended to.” Nero murmurs, half tempted to trace the supple curve of her hip with his muzzle but for the sake of rearranging priorities he refrains. Unfortunately, Nero is not terribly familiar with the fauna of the Teekons but as he grew up close to them he did not think it would be quite so difficult to find and he glimpses around them with tempered dismay. Would the Shadewood provide the basic salve to help her with pain and fight off infection before it can present itself?

Tacita made an effort to hide her injured leg behind the other, then turned so that they were face to face, rather than having Nero close to the cut. She didn't want their game of tease to end, but she knew that he was right; even the smallest of wounds could become home to infection. With a sigh and a drop of her ears, Tacita nodded her head sat back to get a better view of her thigh. She winced as she her tongue ran over the fur around the slit, then tried to stretch out her leg to see if there had been any serious muscle damage. Finding herself generally mobile, she stood back up and looked into Nero's eyes.

Help, she croaked, the sound scratching at her throat. All she could do was hope he knew more about the trade than she did, because if not, it would seem that she was out of luck.