Greatwater Lake oni

she stopped her patrol when the stormcall escaped the plains, feeling the urge to raise her own response; but she was alone, and knew that would not have the effect she desired.

where were all the men? last year she had seen many; this year, perhaps the plains people had gathered them. perhaps the desert wolves had cursed her to remain alone? ridiculous; zharille snorts at the idea and carries on with her stalking.

there were scents leading towards the easterly creek and she was tempted to go there, trawl for men; but she did not want to leave her lake knowing the desert people wanted it for themselves.

kaxwaan feeds.

his head buried in an unrecognizable mass of broken bone and furred flesh, he makes a tremendous noise: tendons and ligaments give way between his working jaws, which, as customary of his genus, are capable of applying nearly four hundred pound-forces per square inch. this is the sort of magnitude reserved for powering steam locomotives. his hot breath, as if from a machine, rises as white vapor from his mouth and disappears above his head.

between bites he notices the dark woman in the distance, pacing with yard-long strides.

he shows her the gristle and blood between his teeth with a red smile.

a gristle-heavy slab of meat stares at her with a wicked grin; too late she realizes it is a face, and that it is a man, and that they eat upon her land from meat that belonged by proxy to her. a meal meant for zharille.

she feels the violent inclination to set upon him for such daring thievery—but there is no sign of the plains here, only blood and meat and the musk of the stranger. the fur between her shoulders raises. her tail gives a lash.

zharille lunges close for a better taste, crowding him. in that split second he might shrink from her and prove himself; or maybe he would feel her threat and rise to meet it.

either way, the test would lead to answers.

she approaches him, bristling all the while; his smile grows an inch on either side. anger arcs from her every gesture like solenoid flares.

when she strikes at him he denotes with pleasure how the suspension-cord muscles of her forearms stand out in sharp relief, and the blunt carbine of her muzzle so close to his!

he scents her through the unctuous taste of fat, the tang of blood. he spits out a cheek-full of viscera to the dirt beside him and a low growl tears through his throat, a mechanical noise under thrall of the pacemaker at his burning nexus.

just above her bullish shoulder, behind the spray of black hackles, kaxwaan's eyes shine with animal anticipation.

he neither shrinks or challenges. it surprises zharille. she is accustomed to the reactionary creatures of these wilds and when she doesn't elicit anything beyond a dull rumble from the man, her interest is piqued.

there is no sign of obvious illness to him. whether he holds injury is another matter hidden by the carrion. she flashes her teeth and rumbles an answer to him—reaching for the chunk of flesh he had been worrying to pieces as another test.

she would not shrink too low as she sought this prize. with one more step zharille was straddling over him with her chest, as a man might a woman, her teeth near his ear.

they make true contact. their stasis is one of two bulls with horns interlocking, simmering with the promise of future violence.

when she lowers her head to his meal he exhales heavily into the rough fur between her neck and shoulder.

she braces over him. he maneuvers his head to her ribs. his temple rests against tense bands of dorsal muscle; he bares his teeth, enough for her to feel the corrugated contour of his molars, but does not press anywhere near hard enough to break skin.

and still, his heart rages so intensely that he feels and hears nothing but.

he does not strike her, or run. this impresses her enough for zharille to ignore the meal in the end. her mouth hinges, her teeth flashing; but she withdraws and stands alongside the man where he lays.

she studies him.

he is smaller than herself—typically this would be a bad thing for those she desires to couple with—but given previous history with khaba, zharille has decided it is not a deal breaker.

the warning rumble in her throat becomes a throaty note of welcome, or invitation; and then she calms, huffing a breath from her nose.

whoever he was, she had decided he could stay, for now.

he echoes her noises which quickly descend from aggression to ambivalence. their voices are quieter now and only audible within their sphere of the world, or even smaller, the space between their muzzles.

kaxwaan recognizes the lull as a stalemate, easily broken like a boot through a layer of saltwater ice -- the crystalline structures not yet fully set, great floes of it floating uneasily on a wet, obsidian surface.

he abandons what's left of the carcass for the crows and other scavengers of the world, and twists to nose at her heel, his body light and open as he dips into a play bow. the bright gesture is incongruous with the bib of fresh gore that crusts his mouth, chin and chest. the stump of his tail strains back and forth, laboring under the illusion that it had anything to wave at all.

he bows to her! games were not commonplace for the ogre woman so she saw this movement as submission and was pleased.

she stood and moved as if to tower over him again, only to snake low and close, reaching for the block of his snout. grabbing for it, quickly. teeth not causing damage but catching hard across the bridge of the nose.

then a lick to the top, a click of teeth at the air as she pulls away and braces tall against the earth.

stay. she commands of him; stay with zharille. soon her time would come and he would benefit, provided he lingered a while.

fading here, thank you for a fun thread! dunno if greatwater lake has a pledged role yet, but consider kaxwaan in :)

she takes him roughly by the snout and he is delighted at her lack of hesitation, at her sheer physicality.

he knows how to speak but with her the need for speech burns away, leaving something condensed and purer. everything else can go.

the tip of her nose shines like igenous rock. he purls at her command, and lets a whimper knife through his throat. the high notes splinter into the heady dusk air and the two creatures begin to move towards the lake of their stronghold.