Deepwood Weald It’s the same way you showed me

Forward dated to November 29th!

He decides to stay in the premises of Deepwood Weald. It’s an interesting place that seems just as gloomy as his mood at the moment. He’s still poopy and everyone knows it. Surely when he told them he was leaving they could tell. They might or might not have known why either. Well, Nyra might. So unless the Harbinger told anyone they should be clueless as to why exactly he’s in such a shitty mood.

So now he lazes about the Weald. Literally just sulking and being pissed. He’s being a baby. Yet, this feeling he feels deep inside is beginning to go deeper than just that. His ideas are twisting into horrid fantasies. And even worse, those a fantasies are much to mailable to the wolf mix. They’re becoming real — a plan he’s creating. But for what? Who’s truly knows. Hell, it’s safe the man is planning something malicious around 80% of the time so how is this any different? 

He doesn’t want to play the good boy anymore.

She had finally been officially cleared to leave the territory, the wound to her shoulder mostly healed and only leaving soft pink skin where the gash had once been. 

But she wouldn't wander very far, just to the forest on the other side of the fields she visited often. She hung around the outskirts of the forest for some time, her nose to the ground as she searched for food or something interesting to pass the time. Eventually, she turned and headed into the darkness of the forest. She hadn't picked up the scent of Kynareth nearby, although if she had, she would have marched right up to him and taken a chunk out of his face. For now, she continued her lazy exploring of the forest floor, intending to cover quite a bit of ground before returning home.

The grumpy man saunters lazily through the territory and, oh god, what does he find. Only the best opportunity to initiate his revenge right in front of him, wrapped in a pretty pink bow. He almost starts sweating he’s so excited. His brow furrows and his lips curl menacingly. She’s got no chance. He’s doing it. This is what his fantasies were about. She’d learn soon enough too. 

Not to fucking cross Kynareth Deagon. 

He doesn’t give the woman enough time to even blink before he’s sprinting towards her. She’d hear the thumping of his heavy paws and a low growl of her name as he would slam into her shoulder with the force of a bull. Teeth eagerly attempting to gnaw at the looser skin behind her shoulder and her ribs. This skin rips easily, so she better weigh her options wisely.

He was right: she had absolutely no time react. She heard the thundering of paws and froze. She looked up just in time to see his face and hear her name, and then she was knocked to the ground. He used so much force that the air was knocked from her lungs. His teeth ripped into her skin and for a few awful moments she couldn't move. She was so stunned by the whole thing and now her chest burned and her flesh ached where his teeth held on. She knew he was mad, but she never actually thought he would do anything about it. How many times had she invited an attack from him, either with vicious words or an attack of her own? All those times, he had done nothing. What was so different now? He couldn't pretend to be something he wasn't to his precious pack? Well she hoped they all left him in his pile of shit. He deserved it.

A few moments were all it took to get her bearings, and she turned her head to snap at his leg. If able, she would tear into his flesh and hang on for as long as she could. She wanted to pull it out from under him to take away his advantage, but she wasn't sure if she could. She had always known he was stronger than she was, but she never really realized what that could mean until this moment, when she was pinned beneath him and all she could see was that empty, murderous look in his eyes. That was not the Kynareth she had known, and for once, she was actually scared of him.

The larger male is able to surprise her enough to get the upper hand. And he’s eagerly shaking at her flesh. It’s like he’s lost his wits. He’s not completely there really. Truth be told, rage electrifies every nerve ending, every muscle, and shock waves of electric hate pulsate through his brain so badly that it seems it’s enough to convince him to actually attack her this time. It was her turn to figure out that Kynareth doesn’t bluff.

If he had an option he would’ve snatched up her cute little friend and shook her to death just like he did Aya as well. He was  a bigger man then, he let them get away. A smart decision for him then, for a battle with the two would mean war with Neverwinter and he’s too busy trying to convince Moonspear to assist him in taking down Ursus.

So as he feels biting on his leg he growls and hops away. He’d give her a fair fight if he was to fight her. The puncture wounds on his leg already begin to bleed and throb. Yet he goes on the defensive, strong body, daring her to come at him. He stands tall and dominant, while also ready for her attack. Taking up a much more defensive position he stay close enough that he’d be able to catch her if she ran. 

He tilts a furry chin up to her, a manic sneer on his face and the pupils of his irises swallows by a hawkish, predatory yellow. He doesn’t look like himself. “Come on, baby.” He taunts, flaunting the nickname purposely. “I wanna feel those teeth on me like you fucking mean it.” He hums lowly, his voice gravelly with rage as his lip wrinkles up.

The sound of his growl was almost as satisfying as the taste of his blood. But then his weight was gone, and she was juming up with a snarl, landing gracefully on her feet as she braced to lunge forward. For a moment, she considered taking off now that she had the chance. He was still close enough to catch her, but she was faster than he was. She shifted and then froze as he called her baby. The word sent a chill down her spine, and in that same second, her decision was made. She wanted to kill him; she had never wanted anything more in her entire life. He wanted to feel her teeth, so she would happily oblige.

She lunged forward, her bite aiming right for his throat like she meant business, because she did. If given then chance, she would sink her teeth into the skin there and rip and tear until she was sure he was dead. He had done this to them—he was a monster, and he didn't deserve to live.

Kyn sees the light hesitation if one could call it that, but afterwards the clearest form of determination on her beautiful face. Oh she wants to kill him and he’s living for it. Even as she lunges to bite at him, a move he expects but still gets hit with, he smirks. 

Her teeth puncture his neck just like the last time she attacked him, only this time he’s not going to be a good boy anymore. He’s going to rock her fucking world. So as she bites and thrashes her body wildly to do as much damage as possible she’d find his blood pooling from that wound as well as she’d succeeded in ripping his flesh fairly well. 

The wound, the pain, it doesn’t deter him much. Rather he roars, then a crazy laugh rushes from his bared mouth. He moves with her, tucks his chin, and moves himself to that they’re side by side. He’s probably done this move in her before, for he’s only able to do it on wolves smaller than he. Even if it’s just a couple inches. Struggling to bring his arm beside her up and onto her shoulders it would practically force him on top of her. Sure she could rip and tear all she liked, but he’d use her trauma and hatred to his advantage. He likes to fight dirty sometimes anyhow. 

As a thick forearm is hoisted over he shoulder, he’s forcing himself on top of her. The only way to escape is to let go of his neck. He dares to pipe up too, his smirk never ending as he taunts her savagely. “Remember when we used to have fun like this? You liked it then? How would you like it now?” Ge references their most scandalous, acts of passion. But not only that, he dares to threaten the idea to have a repeat of her most recent trauma, arm now curling around her rib to prove his point.

Of course he most likely wouldn’t do such a thing to her specifically, but that doesn’t mean he won’t let her think it. If she does end up letting go at his invasive touch, he’d snatch up the skin on the crown of her head, where spine meets skull. He’d be lucky he didn’t snap her neck in half or puncture her skull at that point.

Nothing had ever felt as good as the way her teeth tore into his neck. And like she had promised herself, she clamped down as hard as she could, throwing her body back and forth to cause maximum damage. She just needed to reach the right spot. Blood stained her face but not enough of it, and she continued to thrash around, and the motherfucker actually laughed. She was tearing into to his neck, and he was laughing. What a fucking psycho. How had she not seen this in him before?

Before she could think more about it, he was flipping her on her side like he had done during their spars, only this time, he actually meant to hurt her, and she could tell but the force he used and the glint of evil on his gaze. She held on though, even as he flipped them completely and put her below him. But then he pinned her down, his large forearm landing on her shoulder to pin her further. That was when she froze, her teeth still in his neck. What he said next had panic surging violently through her veins. No. Please. The words were strained and laced with fear. She was too terrified to care about anything else but preventing him from doing what he hinted at. She squirmed and thrashed and tried to get free, but it was no use. And her time was up anyway. He tore into the skin on her head and pulled so hard that the sides of vision blurred and the edges began to darken. Her own blood mixed with his in her snowy fur, and she knew she was completely at his mercy, no matter how hard she fought.

The struggle is grueling, hard fought on both ends. It seems that Simmik is a lot more talented than she lead on to be in those cute spars they did way back then. She isn’t invincible though, this is obvious. For it seems her mental fortitude isn’t as strong as her physical fortitude. She’s bending easily at his threatening words and he smiles even harder. Good. Just as he planned. She’s all his now. 

The second she lets go to plea for his mercy, he gives her none. He never wanted it to end this way and truly he never thought it would. It seems life has different plans for him though doesn’t it? Simmik too. 

She realizes this when he snatches her up. He shakes her horribly, disorienting and puncturing subtle flesh. Oh god, he’s gonna vomit, but the blood in his mouth is so sickeningly sweet; he fucking hates it. It doesn’t stop him from continuing. He’s quickly letting go of her when he recognizes that she is dizzy, possibly even passed out by this point. He grabs her front forearm in his jaws then and bites down with little to no mercy. Teeth puncturing her skin and muscle, but he’s conscious enough of his power not to break her arm — only disable her. 

After he does so he stands back looking down, face and chest bloody. His black, tinted crimson tongue lulls out to pant and cool himself from the exertion of battle.

“Fuck.” He breaths raggedly. Unsure if she is still awake. He knows damn well there’s no way she’s dead at least and her wounds aren’t severe enough to die from. 

He almost wonders what he does now. Yet, he chides himself; he knows exactly what to do. Awake or not, he lowers guess and softly grabs a mouthful of her looser scruff. Lifting her up enough he will drag her until she wakes or is able to walk for herself. Or limp in this case.

It only took a few shakes for her to lose consciousness. The loss of blood, the brutal fight, the psychological trauma—it had all taken its toll, and before she could even try to get away from him, she was met with darkness. The bite to her arm would get no resistance. Neither would she wake when he grabbed a hold of her scruff and started to drag her away from her forest and from Mal and from her pack. She had finally pushed him too far and put herself in too much danger to get out of now. 

They would be halfway to his destination before she did finally open her eyes. But she would be too groggy and in too much pain to put up much of a fight.

He’s concluded that yes, she is possibly knocked out. So he only drags her a few meters before glancing back and seeing bits and pieces of the yellow grass stained red. That wouldn’t do at all. He’s unable to completely take away his scent but he’d at least be able to make the meeting look a little less... bloody.

He lies Simmik down and he drops down right next to her. Lazily plopping a paw over her shoulder he begins licking her wounds to clot the blood flow. He’s stay there for no less than forty five minutes, licking and cleaning all of her wounds and taking another thirty for his own. Moving her a few paces over once more, he begins lapping at even the grass. Eyeing down every red droplet within obvious sight and smell. Sure their scents would still linger, but definitely for not as long as they would have if he let the blood bake and dry.

He finally continues on then, worried that she hasn’t woken up yet. Again, awake or not he’s be sure to drag her through multiple streams on the way down there. Kynareth’s got what he wanted and if everything goes right with Moonspear, he’d be positively unstoppable. He smirks sickly around her fur and flesh in his mouth. Good luck finding her Neverwinter. For if they do come looking he has no issue throwing her down into the Bonesplinter Ravine. They wouldn’t know the difference between her bones and flesh from the other anyhow.