Bearclaw Valley some kind of metal made up from glue

a new scent hung in the wind, of spring — and something else. astara had come across the notes of wolves in season here and there in these coming weeks, taking pains to avoid them where she came across them. occasionally she would jealously check to see @Merrick had not come across these markings — so far, she could tell he had not. 

now, that scent came to her. 

she rubbed roughly against a bough in the forest, attempting naively to rid herself of the unusual bouquet. it was a troubling scent — she wanted little to do with it. when that yielded nothing save a soreness to her shoulders, astara sank into the snow and drew a mound to her chest, biting the dimpled snow with vented yet absent frustration.

the scents that had plagued the land currently was something merrick had largely avoided. he kept to the center of the valley, often alone save for the perpetual murmur of the bear spirit.
but today it rose hot and laced into every wind; it tensed his body as if for the final scream before a kill; he gasped pleasantly and rove immediately in pursuit of it's wearer.
his blackbird, nipping at a drift. his nightshade, ribbonned in that maddening fragrance; it fired hardened compelled merrick
forward
swiftly he rushed to pillar her between his long limbs, pressing himself against her with a breathless chuckle.

this sensation was new to astara. it drove her to want both inclusion and isolation - it drove her mad.

crunching snow between her jaws she watched as merrick approached, moving at a stormy pace. her gaze met his roving eye, flat and sulkily. his lust rose off of him like dark smoke, clouding astara's frustrated emotions with an overarching need to meet him..

but she was confused and resentful of this otherworldy whisper of instinct. it was like no other intuition astara had felt -- its strangeness made her feral and uncooperative. it made her suspicious. it made her desire to fight against it and its increasing occupancy in her personal space.

just as merrick was to embrace her astara rose with a start, a lethal snarl sounding like gunshot from her tensed jaws.

merrick rocked back onto stunned haunches as astara sounded her warning. she had never acted so before, and it confused the boy. his nightshade had always been welcoming to him, ravenous for their frequent and aggressive couplings.
but not now.
he would try a different approach then. his cyclops stare reflected a bewilderment at her chastising throat; merrick threw back his ragged ears and approached her with a low whine, compelled to follow despite his desperate desire not to be the subject of her teeth.

astara resented the foreign instinct that took residence in her body, pressing her with will she was unfamiliar. merrick appeared suitably cowed by her aggression, and astara backed off with a guilty flicker of her indigo gaze.

she wanted -- no, she didn't want --

but she wanted security. she wanted the familiar. his embrace. the feel of his teeth preening her fur. the warmth; his body. hers.

merrick attempted again, this time his approach slow with a whine cupped to his throat. astara's features contorted in remote disdain, her tail arching challengingly over her haunches.

if he was to take her -- and by the fates, he was -- he would have to subdue her first.

astara did not succumb; she answered in a royal way, sending a knife of irritation through merrick. it was his first time at this game; he had no patience for the muzzy cloud of confusion.
and so he too rose with a golden air, tail lashing bannerlike in the cold air behind his haunches. no soft, teasing courtship for them. he was inflamed, and only the sweetness of blood or the feel of her lithe body beneath his would quell the mad boy.
both cups to be drunk from.
merrick approached on stuff limbs, then made a lunge for her, teeth snapping toward astara's shoulder.

merrick rose in turn, a flash of irritation gilding his singular eye.

good.

astara eyed him haughtily, poised and ready. her tail rose behind her in similar fashion, arcing like a black wing.

a wrinkle in her gums as they lifted, a row of menacing teeth revealed.

he lunged.

astara sprung back as his teeth raked her raven pelt, parrying with a flurry of snaps towards his neck, his cheek, his face. her limbs propped stiffly, her back arched -- all the while, careful to keep him in front of her always.

she goaded him so easily; his teeth only flared against the crook of her throat and then astara was sailing at him herself. her fangs then did scrape his cheek, and he seized away from her.
had he held back? he did not know. it felt as though shock were coursing merrick now, finally, a rivulet of blood leaking down his flesh. 
annoyance gave way to anger, and merrick snapped at the open air before bounding toward his blackbird again, swinging his hip into hers at the last moment with an attempt to knock her off small feet.
or bruise her.

astara's teeth connected -- what have you done? -- against merrick, raking their way through dark fur and blistering skin. astara reeled back as if struck herself, holding her lover-now-fighter's gaze a moment longer before he spun, his hip careening into her chest.

knocked off balance, astara's long forelimbs splayed out in front of her as she fumbled into the snow, a gurgling snarl held close in her throat.

sharply he wondered if she was leaving him. was that why she sought to escape his grasp? lopsided gaze hardened. I am yours. you are mine.
shards shredding the sensation of trust. merrick snarled, aching for astara, but suddenly mistrustful, rage rising in his gorge.
how fucking dare she
when she stumbled, he was upon her, jaws blindly reaching to grab and hold and rip as he thrust his body toward her and sought to keep
her
here

he was upon her in an instant, incensed and mistrustful. that split second was all it took for him to pin her down, teeth at her throat --
ripping
snarling
astara flung her head back, the flash of long incisors bared as they raked for face, for fur, for anything -- feeling pain slake her senses, a flare of red among glistening black.
she was doused by an animus' lust for flesh and violence both, fighting, grappling, loving, as the dark serpent moved impetuously within her.

blood flung from a slash across his muzzle to mingle with her own; crimson smeared into sunless pelt. merrick closed his jaws upon her flesh and snarled low in his throat, shoving her deeper and deeper against the thawing earth, his weight flung across her own.
her musculature rippled beneath his own; breath hot upon his face, ears, eyelids;
he discovered with a deep horrid surge of pleasure that he had readied for her, and once more he gathered astara beneath him, warning her to submit with a bubbling growl.

dare she submit?

her blood was soured by adrenaline; it heightened her senses (his teeth, raw against her skin - blood hot as it thickly spread down her chest and matted her fur) and stroked the fire within her belly that could not be dimmed -- the one which told her to war, war until her limbs gave out and her vision closed in.

she relented as a bubbling snarl crooned against her neck, feeling his breath hot on her ears with a shudder. astara's shoulders and spine tensed as she felt merrick press against her -- their lover's quarrel come to a bloody end, with merrick once more on top.

she did not become pliant, her body curving into a warning, but merrick had been challenged, and had won his prize. he backed away from her slowly, jaws parted should she lash out at him again, and eyed her with a fierce and open lust.
she was swathed in a perfume that rushed a din into his brain, drove him forward. she would submit. and she would know him,
all of him.
not only her lover merrick, but her king.

a rush of cold air raked down her spine as merrick pulled back, his eye hard and imbued with a dark want astara recognized immediately. a blade of protectiveness knifed through her, but she did not retaliate -- her own jaws parted, waiting for round two with a wildly stirring heart.

merrick advanced. astara's ears pulled back, her posture low and ready in case it was another round of teeth and fury. merrick had proven his worth in meeting her challenge -- and now, he could have her.

stiff-legged he approached, inching muzzle out and out and out while tail furiously waved while his lips descended between her shoulderblades. he held himself there, gently, softly, body relaxing as he pondered her nearness and felt himself thaw to the feel of his blackbird.
her scent rose; astara stirred him, poised him, soothed him.

in the aftermath of ever violent conflict, a sterling lining of tender love.

astara met her bear with a deep breath, her teeth pulling along the throat only moments before she had tried to tear into. electricity of a different kind crackled up and down her skin. she wanted him, needed him -- and yet, that ugly thought he might someday leave her remained, a blackened gout in her mind.

she felt her tension ebb away the longer they held each other close -- with a gentle nip along his forelimb, merrick's blackbird turned her flank towards him.

merrick was bound to her more than he had ever been held by any force on earth. astara yielded and though he was quick to ensconce her against him, he knew it was she who demanded worshipfulness.
and so the bearwolf set to doing so, and in the natal valley of his first breath, nightshade astara and firebrand merrick renewed the wild therein.