Sea Lion Shores the sun is gone, but i have a light

@Mona  - MATURE  content ahead

a dark navy night had rolled in over the strand. rannveig listened to the dull rasp of the ocean, his eyes closed.

overhead the sky was one of those crisp clear autumn skies - studded here and there with the bright scintilating of silver stars; some a remote white - others a pulsing red. rannveig paid their distant presence no mind, focusing instead on the rhythm of the wind and the beach as his bones settled deep into the sand.

indra had given mona the order to depart bearclaw and make her way to the coast, searching and inquiring as to lucas' whereabouts along the way. wary to be gone so long, at least a week, but desperate to breathe new air, mona had thankfully accepted.
making up her mind to visit what was left of donnelaith on the return journey, mona made her way as directly toward the shoreline as possible. the reward for her labours were a set of aching paws and a figue trimmed more leanly than before, but she had arrived.
breathless, mona found herself moving along the rocky shores, stumbling whenever her attention was enthralled in entirety by the dark and lapping expanse of water. she was fearful and exhilarated, her winter-thickening crimson pelt still unused to the lash of cold ocean winds. but yet beneath the pallour of the heavy moon, the little mayfair found contentment.
mona settled, the reclining figure further along quite unnoticed for now.

rannveig let his breath unfurl; in the cold, a thin plume rose from his parted jaws, smokefrail and soon gone. if he just sat here a while, he could feel something - something important and meaningful and purposeful as the slow growl of the ocean, or the impossibly remote star-song above.

a tranquility rested over him, one he had not felt since they left warsaw. yet it was fractured, an incomplete yet bizarrely beautiful piece of a puzzle that promised a glorious picture. he felt close, but it was not quite.

he opened his eyes. dark sky and dark sea and dark sands filled his vision.

he breathed deep. cold air, cold salt, cold wind.

and then he looked -- his gaze catching the trailing flame of a wolf whose pelt defied the grim monotone of nightfall. rannveig felt his pulse quicken; he had thought he was alone, and wondered if she had seen him sitting there, thinking him stupid.

well, he believed the damage was done -- with a resigned sort of smile the male shifted up from the sand and turned to face her, a slow wag moving his tail.
.

she did not notice the man until he moved, and then her murkwater eyes swept over the dark gunmetal of his pelt, the way he reared up like some shoreline devil. he was quite large, mona noted with a swallow, but he had offered no threat, merely a movement of his plume in the sands. it was a gesture she mirrored, smiling toward the stranger even if he could not see it in the gloom.
presently, mona cleared her throat, inclining her muzzle toward the sand alongside her. she was a shy creature, but beneath the cover of night, she had found boldness. what was a trip all the way to the sea if she could not meet new and interesting wolves? if he joined her, she would enjoy that. but if he did not, mona would enjoy the beauty of nightfall upon the coast with her own silent pleasure.

when at first rannveig's gaze met the murkwater depths of the she-wolf, he had sensed trepidation. it stilled his movements, staying his hand -- he was not a violent wolf, and was loathe to instill fear in others. and so, his body seemed to gently lose its tension - his rough shoulders the first to soften, his eyes cast in her direction, yet unimposing.

she canted her muzzle, and in the waning light he caught the delicate curve of her mouth; the flat, sleek slant of her forehead. she was pretty; or at least, rannveig thought so -- but he felt at the same time he was looking upon something beautiful, but bound by some grim and unseen tether. it troubled him.

all the same he inched closer slowly, his breathing assured and features relaxed -- as if he were coming to tame a feral cat, or soften the hateful spitting of a wild domestic. "hi." he ventured as the wind picked up, his gaze now trailing to the rough impetus of the waves before them.

mona was woefully unprepared for how tall he was; she bit back a gasp as he rose from the sand like some never-ending shadow, moving forward on noiseless and broad paws. they spread out across the sand, and the little mayfair glanced once at them before lifting her slim muzzle to find the shade of his eyes, seapolished gems plucked from some atlantean kingdom, burning against the nightfall cape that bore accents of thunderhead grey.
handsome, yes. her heart had begun to quicken its beat, and mona attempted to mask this with a practiced and elegant smile into his fascinating gaze. "hello." had he come from the sea? the firebird put down the thought firmly; that was only nonsense born of her too-active nerves.
therefore, she followed his gaze out to the shadowed waters, and said no more.

before them the sea spilled in dark and gurgling gasps. between the rise and fall and slap of the brine mona spoke; rannveig's ear flicked in recognition of it, and he felt relieved and perhaps emboldened that she had returned his hello and, of course, had yet to snark at him.

there was always time for that, though.

while the two shared a tentative silence, rannveig took the opportunity to slyly study her out of the corner of his eye. she looked familiar in a way he couldn't quite place; all the same, he was certain he had never beheld her like before. she was a brilliant russet, the kind of red that fringed the crisp edges of an autumn-spurned leaf -- the scintillating dip of sunset -- it was not a color he had seen at home, and he was certain of that.

all the same, something about her struck a note of intimacy in him; after a while, he came to the conclusion it was her eyes. they reminded him in a way of his mother's -- not the color, but the shape and the flicker of them, which promised to some hidden depth unreachable.

finally, he spoke. "it helps me think, i think." he gesture out to the stormy surf, which pounded in coarse drumbeats against the packed sand. "it doesn't make sense, but it helps me not think too, which clears my mind... what about you?"

her questioning of his marine paternity shifted quickly to an incomprehensible perception that somehow mona knew this man, who settled smooth like a fallen shade alongside her. the warhound peal of his voice both chilled and fascinated the delicate cardinal, so much that she fair forgot what it was he was saying in lieu of listening simply to the cadence of his tones. he was savage, some pirate from bodice-ripper novellas. coincidentally, had mona any concept of reading or literature, she would have turned first to those hallowed and pulpy tomes.
thankfully, with no starting point in fabio, mona was free to create her own backstory against the ambience of his voice. some far-off land, she decided, with great dangers. he had been a prince there, but tragedy had struck. he comes now, armed with bitterness and —
"— oh! uh," mona fumbled, unsure how long she had been staring off at the ocean. "i've only seen it once before," came her admission in a shy voice, "and not this close." a breath swelled her slight shoulders. "but i always wanted to come back. and here i am, i suppose." brilliant! you sound like a dunce.
"were you born near the sea, monsieur? or did you come to appreciate it in travelling?" mona inquired softly, swampgreen gaze seeking the jeweled pierce of the man's gaze.

understandably, rannveig’s basic drivel seemed to deliver some confusion. he watched as the cardinal waif wrestled with the nonsensical weight of his words, politely commandeering the subject to something a little more intelligent. he rolled his shoulders in acceptance of mona’s relative inexperience with the sea: maybe someday, like him, Mona would draw peace from the pensive presence of the ocean. 

she asked of his birthplace. rannveig, oversharer extraordinaire, flicked his tail with a casual indifference and spoke: ”I was born on an island — sooo... yeah. but we had forests and rocks and stuff there too.” he shifted into his elbows and glanced over, finding her gaze was upon him. fearless and without challenge he held those murkwater eyes, studied the slender cant of her delicate muzzle. ”what about you?”

he was a fearsome and unafraid creature. mona studied the youth of his countenance; he did not seem far from her own age. and yet there was a savagery there that she would never possess, a primal verve to his features that reminded her of the wildman in the wood, of stigmata. unhinged, she supposed; he was perfectly genteel and calm to the eye, but beneath his nightfall coat the promise of darker things.
her brow furrowed. "what ... what is an island?" she had not heard the word before, or if she did mona did not recall it. perhaps she could have gleaned it in context, but she rather liked the stony roll of his voice. "i was actually born here, in the teekons. a place called silver creek," mona added, meeting the seawolf's eyes once more, a warm and nostalgic glimmer in her gaze now.

rannveig paused heavily, in disbelief, as mona uttered those words: what was an island?

there was no disdain in his voice, but there was a twinge of doubt in it - was an island that rare here? he thought he had seen one up the coast... but maybe, the girl had never been that far. she certainly looked more like a woodland nymph than a water-sprite: her features were soft, her eyes deep and intelligent -- not at all the rough, wind-worn shape of the wolves he knew.

"an island is a formation of land surrounded on all sides by water. like this --" he got up and trotted to the surf, raking in a circular motion in the sand. soon rivulets of water bled into the rough gouge, and the raised sand in the center sat above the glinting surface of the water. "only bigger of course." he grinned warmly, looking at that murkwater gaze once more: she held his gaze in such a captivating way it seemed hard for him to keep his composure. "is silver creek far from here?"

she followed; mona stared with widening eyes as the seawolf revealed something truly fascinating. she had not seen sand used in such a way; she pictured clearly this island of which he spoke, or perhaps merely the shape of it. with any consideration, the mayfair was truly taken with his method of teaching. 
realizing a question had been put to her, the little cardinal shook up from her reverie. "a ways," she murmured, reaching a small red paw to gingerly pat the island that the feral creature had created. "and much further inland; that way," the girl added, gesturing toward the distant tuktu.
swampgreen gaze climbed again to the man's face. "are you far from your island?"

the little bird moved to press her paw against the island rannveig had created: it was a such a small gesture, but something about it seemed so pure and genuine. rannveig felt oddly moved, though he hid it deep. 

he could not hold her gaze for long - for he found he was fretful and abashed by the influence Mona seemed to hold over him. she mentioned in her soft voice the distance between them and her home, and then just as smoothly asked of warsaw. it’s far - but the distance does not seem so deep. my family is with me - well, my siblings anyway. so Warsaw is just another island to me. he wanted to change the conversation back to her, to show curiosity in her, and her interests. yet the wellspring of appropriate discourse was dry in rannveig and he grasped for casual subjects. there’s islands down the coast, you know. since you’ve never seen one and all I could show you. if you’re not too busy — why are you so far from home anyway?

she found herself enthralled anew, reddening beneath the grateful brightness of her scarlet fur when he offered to show her islands. "i would like that," came her soft rejoinder. mona realized the two of them had not yet introduced themselves. perhaps she had already realized it, but somehow it was unimportant beneath the soft, interested thrall of the seawolf's gaze. 
lucas. she had not forgotten; mona's shy expression cleared into one of somber inflection. "one of my alpha's children disappeared. we have been searching for him; i finally offered to go farther." the little scout was beginning to believe their efforts were useless. after all, if the boy had been close to bearclaw, he would have heard them, would have come home. "my heart broke for her," mona whispered in a shattered voice, turning eyes now prickling with tears upon the calming lap of the sea.

a satisfied sense of accomplishment curled around rannveig's chest, the emotion snaking into a smile as mona accepted his offer. not that it was creepy, a man offering to to take a woman he hardly knew on some harebrained jaunt to an island, but, rannveig wasn't just any man.. (sure, all men told you they weren't just any man, but rannveig insisted he was different). he was the kind of man that believed his words genuine, and also, didn't mind picking up a broad or two.

not that mona was a broad -- god, he thought she was just the prettiest thing he had ever seen -- but he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't be disappointed if some other kind of discovery happened on their trip.

then mona mentioned things that definitely didn't jive with the island vibe; just like that, rannveig's mood (in both extremities) plummeted. well, a lost puppy -- that was a moodkiller. he couldn't help but feel sorry for this stranger, whereever she was. ford might have thought such emotions useless, velen might have tittered that rannveig was a giant plushy softy, but really thinking about what mona had said -- about a child disappearing -- well, that was just depressing.

"that's a drag, man." he replied, rather inadequately too - he realized his choice of beach-bum words was not exactly sympathetic. "i mean, that does really suck. so she sent you to look for him... hmmm..." his eyes lit up: "any chance you think he'd be on an island?"

the little cardinal was almost ashamed of how enthralled she was by the way the light reflected from the sea played along the sea savage's features — had she known he felt equally toward her, mona would have flushed beneath her crimson fur and turned away from him then. but she did not, and therefore clung to the soothing cadence of his words like a sodden and drowning thing.
"perhaps," the scout whispered, and the sea rolled across the sands, lapping a gentle roar into her ears. they flicked, cupping forward; in the recesses of her, mona knew what the boy intended in his throated words. or perhaps she would only assume. nathaniel — it had been but a time or two. she did not truly know what men wanted, only the way that this one looked at her now.
the girl swallowed, the slim column of her throat tangible under the velveteen scarlet of her pelt. a smile attempted to touch her lips, but ghosted away; a great loneliness befell mona and she reached almost blindly for this perfect stranger, seeking the softest of brushes against the salted tangle of his ruff. in a moment, she would be horrified at her breach of propriety, but not so now, not so, not so.

he was still (stupidly) thinking about the puppy and the island when he felt a brush alongside him; his fur buzzed, and a chill - the warm, excited kind - buzzed like a little bee up his spine. he turned to mona in surprise, his emerald greens searching the tormented murkwater of her gaze -- why was she so impossibly sad?

he didn't think it had to do with the obvious, a chid disappearing -- but to him, she seemed unmoored and untethered in some way that suddenly, she was reaching out to him as if thrown into a snarling rift of sea. he instinctively fell into the pressure, overwhelmed by her proximity but not afraid -- and feeling gently, ever so tentatively, rannveig sought to wrap himself around her and give into her slight brush with a firmer, more assured brush of his own.

it was not like nathaniel at all, the way this boy touched her. the eagle had been self-assured, confident, sometimes hesitant in a way mona did not always understand. the seawolf was hesitant, edging his touches to match her own. it settled the little mayfair, contented her, soothed the wordless need of her heart in a manner necessary to drive out her shyness.
still with no fixed goal in mind, mona preened the dried brine from his ruff, lifting her slender muzzle to explore the bulb of one dark ear. it was good to touch, to be touched; her shyness began to ebb away, but still she did not seek his eyes — not yet, for she feared it would dash the delicate glass of her newfound confidence to bits.

gods, rannveig thought himself lucky. here he was with an absolute babe sitting next to him -- willingly touching him. a shiver worked its way down his spine in a subtle tremor as her teeth found his ear, flushing him with a longing warmth.

he wanted then to hold her close; to pull her into him so that there was little space between them that was not heated by their pumping hearts, or energized by the electricity he swore swam under the current of their abuzz fur. but like mona he felt if he moved too quickly he would disrupt whatever spell had fell on them, and somehow ruin the moment.

he leaned into her gentle ministrations, placing a paw across her slim leg. and then carefully as if she were a newfound fledgling caught between boughs of pine, he nosed along her neck, breathing deep of her wildwood fur in a moment of rare content.

he leant into her; the breath of the man against her neck caused mona to tense, then to relax, her eyelids falling to half-mast. it was good, yes, good, this thing; she had been so starved for it she had not known it was what she needed. until him, this nameless creature who responded to her as she did to him. and for this time, mona was able to forget: a true blessing in the face of all she had suffered.
her own caresses became firmer, insistent; she sought his warmth, his mouth, laving his lips with tremulous kisses, pressing herself against the line of his body, until at last she seemed to return to herself, and drew away. murkwater eyes darkened with the overwhelming nature of what had gone on, mona realized she was not yet ready to end them, that she wished more, but knew not how to articulate this.

rannveig drank in the emotions that overcame him; the sensation of her thin body firmly hedged against him, the softness of her sleek pelt -- the blossoming warmth of her skin.. he closed his eyes, savoring each sensation with a drunkard's desperation.

he would find it was over all-too-soon -- but he wished to hold her tight and close to him; as she pulled away, their bodies aching, his gaze pooled with mournful want. an old instinct overcame him and thought fled from his mind -- rounding carefully towards the cardinal, the mayfair-cairn tested her willingness by pressing his chest to her, rising to stand over her with his muzzle brushing behind her ears.

likewise, she found herself hopelessly snared. all of the man filled her senses; she moved herself giddily against him, a soft sound of want rising in her throat when at last he rose, his body touching her with a new sort of invitation. shivering as he touched the delicate part of her auds, mona followed suit, her slender body now vulnerable to his embrace.
he would not hurt her; mona was trusting, turning to lap at his own muzzle, his ears, tail moving at her heels as she sought to maintain contact with him in every second.

mona's slender frame bent under him, pressed against his rib-cage and filling every part of his awareness. feeling exhilarated and blind at the same time, rannveig grappled to pull her close -- the flat of his stomach pressed against the slim arch of her spine.

oh god, what am i doing? he was overwhelmed with desperate want, but not so blinded by his lust to realize he might not do the brilliant cardinal beneath him justice. finding a fluttering ear, rannveig nibbled it as he propped himself behind her -- doing so in a movement he thought was somehow keenly graceless.

all the while, his gaze remained on her watchful for any sign to break them off; any sign that all that told him she did not want him; finding none in her mesmerizing gaze, nor no fear in her features, rannveig brought his forelegs gently to her shoulder, his wrists curling between her slender chest as he positioned himself and gently, almost timidly, moved to find himself inside of her.

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mona found herself without fear, only thrumming with a delighted anticipation, as the man settled is weight atop her. he was gentle, moving gingerly, but the difference in their sizes meant that he engulfed her, even as the shift of his hips allowed him entry. 
the firebrand's eyes shut; a small gasp rose in her throat, first at the unfamilarity of the sensation, then at the pleasure that began to lick her skin beneath her bright fur. her breath coming in a shudder, mona widened her stance to brace herself and purred encouragement to the man who had become, for now, only her second lover.

he held her close, his breath hot against the scruff of her neck as mona purred, inciting him further. were he a more experienced or even smarter lover, he might have seen fit to warm her up first -- instead, selfish and stupid, rannveig pumped his hips behind her, his motions restrained for he never once was unaware of the size disparity between them.

he was not a seasoned man, and his movements were hungry but gentle -- for as long as he tried to make it last, the overwhelming sensation soon overcame him, and he leaned carefully against her frame at his climax, spent and breathing tightly between closed jaws.

he had not lasted long, and as he waited for their bodies to unlock a guilty shame overcame him -- for what if it had only been pleasurable for him? what if he had not lasted long enough, had not been big enough, or was perhaps so rough and coarse in his handling of her that he extracted only discomfort?

he tried to survey the cardinal's expression, to read of her impression -- anything at all that might tell him whether he had elated or simply disappointed her.