Deepwood Weald [m] aloe vera

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Her dalliance with Casanova had been delightful. Pleasant. Refreshing. She knew there were many more days of this feeling though, the primal urge to couple with men who would find her. And this year, she had no mate to call her own. Tying the knot with the first man she met seemed so… civilian. And so she chose chaos instead.

Tytonidae let herself enjoy the freedom of independence, another bellowing howl, another open invitation. As she waited for another suitor, she preened her fur in the soft glow of the golden hour.

he shouldn't do this.

it was sin, a test sent from God, he was certain of it.

her scent, her call, it rattled his very core. still he drifted like a ghost to her. uncertain what he would do when he arrived to her location. even more uncertain when he finally laid hawk eyes upon her. varying shades of ink, as wild as these lands.

he cleared his throat, tentative and watching her warily.

The wolf—no, creature—that approached her was as strange as she had ever seen. Whatever she thought, though, Tytonidae's body knew exactly what to do. She observed him for a time, then stretched her neck out tentatively in his direction. There was a familiar scent there, despite his ears and fur being un-wolf-like. Seeing as this was her year of freedom, she cast all worries and inhibitions aside.

You answered, she said, her tail swinging gently from side-to-side. Ah, but what to call him? Perhaps Goldie for his eyes and the hour upon which they had met.

well...you called,

his voice turned almost boyish, under the gaze of hers, and his heart fluttered violently against his ribcage. he recalled his proposal to his first wife. this mimicked it.

and you shouldn't be alone...

but should he be the one to keep her company?

Tytonidae giggled at his second admission.

That I should not, she said, then gave him another lingering look. Tell me, where does such a strange creature such as yourself come from? He was unlike anything she had ever seen. She was not opposed to him by any means, but he was rather curious. The way his ears fell across the sides of his face, and the way the hair there framed it just so. He looked positively goofy one moment, then ravishingly handsome the next. It was as though her brain couldn't make up its mind.

shame coiled in his throat, sat heavy on the throne of his heart.

sin whispered into his heavy ears, worship whispered into the depths of his belly. his mind shifted to uncomfortable places but still he did not pull away.

bartholomew was a man weak of flesh, even if his spirit was unbendable.

i reside on an island, he answered. then sheepishly, head tilted to the side with his chin upward ever so slightly. as if presenting himself like some sort of show animal. can you smell the salt?

He stated only where he lived, not where he was from, but Ty didn’t have the fortitude to argue with him. It would kill the mood, after all. He asked of the air, and Tytonidae breathed it in. Once, long ago, she had sought to claim the plateau not far from here. Much of the draw of her chosen claim had been the proximity to the ocean.

Mhmm, she said. Why did Goldie avoid the question he wanted to ask? Casanova had been much easier, but then again, Ty knew there was often a greater reward in things that took their time.

By yourself, on the island? she asked. Perhaps another woman held him back from what he wished to do to her. For her.

by himself —

he wished. he thought of the face of his son, he thought of the face of God Himself. both would surely show no pity in him for his future actions.

could he stop them? the faces or his actions?

by myself, he answered, turning to be closer to her. a testing dance along her side. the air around her reminded him of honey, of the sea, of things he had grown to love. if he closed his eyes he could imagine dove in her place.

it seems we were meant to be here. together. no longer alone, hm?

it was not fate that had drawn them together. it had been her own doing. her season, her calls. a siren inland.

but perhaps he could dip his toes into a fantasy world for a moment.

Ah, so it was not a woman who caused him to tease out this moment longer. Perhaps he merely enjoyed this part of the courtship. Tytonidae, however, found herself growing restless. She wished him to have her.

For today, I am yours, she said. Perhaps a bolder statement would hurry him along. She brushed her body alongside his when he drew close, the familiar movements she had allowed lovers past. And you, mine. Ty groomed a tuft of curled hair along his ear, should he let her.

can either close out here or time skip, whatever you're feeling <3

a weak, feeble man.

he caved at her words and tender touches. his heart ached so fiercely and he had not realized in this long moments of missionary work just how much he had missed the concept of love. the mere idea of it and its actions.

yours, he whispered once more.

no longer did he wish to dance around her or her needs.

his spirit fractured, splintered.

Yours.

. . .

It was the word that rang in her ears even when their bodies finally untangled themselves. Ty found herself more limber now, lighter, and generally less irritable. She glanced at her lover, a term she used all too loosely. Casanova had been a lover, too. She did not think Goldie would be her last this year. If anything, the freedom of being on her own had only lit the fire for more variety, more tasting of those who would answer her call.

Now that her nerves were settled, she wondered what more Goldie would ask of her, if anything. Casanova had been content to rest, though Goldie struck her as younger than him.

shame.

he was drenched in it, the look on his face awfully pensive for a man who had found a slice of heaven on earth.

had he lost heaven beyond earth for that piece of it here?

whatever he had given her had been taken straight from his spirit, his very essence. while his words may have rung in her ears, he heard nothing. as if he was not here at all. even as they remained near one another in these moments after.

he wished to leave.

he wished to turn back time.

instead, he hoped to delicately preen the furs he had ruffled on her, if she would so much allow. a soft tune hummed in the back of his throat. a hymn. did he even have a place to sing such now?

you get #400!

She struggled to read his expression, but she thought it wasn’t that peculiar. They had known each other little time, and he did not seem the open book sort. He hummed a tune as he straightened the fur on her nape, and Ty soon found herself dozing to the song. It was difficult to keep her eyes open, and her head nodded a few times before she let it rest on the ground. Sleep would come easily.

<333

it was easier when she was asleep.

she did not say anymore delectable devilish words to him and he did not have honey dripping from his tongue. only bile, the threat of it smothering out his song.

while she found rest, he found strife.

and he would take it with him, gone before she woke.