Blackfeather Woods [m] i must have dreamed a thousand dreams

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: chucking her into heat because why not torture her LOL. zaahira will likely be very aggressive toward strange men (those not of akashingo)! tags for ref unless u want in on this mess

somehow, she had not seen this coming.
the priest had cut his travels short, gone ahead to muat-riya on urgent notice. zaahira fully intended to follow — until she woke one early morning ablaze, scarlet staining her bedfurs.
her first thought had been betrayal. Sekhmet, Hathor, the women who had come before her, averting their eyes as they cast this suffering upon her, this hindrance that reminded her starkly of her own horrific sense of loneliness.
and she wept, wept fiercely, for she did not want this; she was not meant to bear children for akashingo. blood, impure, stained a bleak obsidian by her half-orc birthright, and though she wore the wadjet lain in kohl, she was but a peasant by nature. a plebian.
perhaps worst of all, she was a woman.
and so she veered lonesomely into the deep wood, intending to stay here for this coming week of Apep's wrath. a shakily worded letter was sent for pharaoh @Toula and for @Senmut, and, most hesitantly, for @Rashepses.
i will be home soon. pray for me.

it was no man pulled in by the scent of the warm seasons.

Loveday had wanted to leave this place until the rich perfumes came to her on a stiff breeze. she was near nervous of what she might come upon. although she was no youth, there would always be uncertainties about these things.

maybe this was silly, foolish. a girlish endeavor to wrap herself up in someone. there was a chance she might be shooed off with teeth and claws — and she would deserve it!

she would not know until she tried. her voice soft and careful, too warm for such a cold place, but not as hot as the fires that burned up ahead.

hello?

she is not alone here.
heart racing, blood humming with a furious heat; she freezes, soldier's instinct screaming.
a woman, a commoner, a girl who certainly knew not who zaahira was, nor where she came from. she cannot decide if this fact is humiliating or invigorating.
her gaze is light as she rounds upon the stranger, neutral; not imposing nor particularly welcoming. her nerves are swallowed. her lips part to speak, but she finds that she suddenly cannot.
she only watches, pitifully; waiting.

it was not violence wielded against her. for moment she listened, she waited, it looked as if the woman might speak. only no voice came and loveday was left to wonder what she sounded like.

she is only watched by eyes as brilliant as the flames burning the woman.

she felt like a grey storm cloud that might extinguish the flames. it terrified her! i— smelled you. creepy and likely unflattering. i was drawn here. by you, i believe.

she did not feel so confident and she began a nervous fidget. her left front paw delicately twisting back and forth beneath her, a crescent shape in the earth formed by her nails beneath her toes.

drawn here by you.
zaahira feels a lurching in her belly, a craving long dormant that is suddenly nudged awake by the lovely, nameless face which stares back at her. the touch of a woman, the gentle caress that she has gone without for so long—!
a shuddering breath escapes her. against the will of her rational mind, she beckons the girl closer, rumbling a low, almost desperate note of want. she remains speechless, communicating only with the will of her burning gaze; come to me.

it had been what she had wanted.

but what did you do when the thing you imagined was suddenly here? summoned! that was all she could think of it as. as if she had not practically asked for this. she was summoned, picked, plucked.

her legs moved for her when her brain could not manage words or a thought worth uttering. her brain lived in a dreamy haze and she could not help but wonder. would she stir awake any moment now? when warmth came to her or she was given the slightest touch, perhaps she'd jerk awake!

her muzzle reached out towards a strong leg. almost certain that reality would come back to her any moment now.

oh, this girl did not know what she had gotten herself into. perhaps zaahira didn't, either.
hungry, starved, famished; as soon as the heather-pelted girl is within reach the jodai sweeps her into a strong embrace, lips and teeth reaching for earlobe and for jawline, for pulsepoint and the cool relief of bony shoulder. how long had it been since she had touched a woman in this way? how long had it been since someone had so much as hugged her?
eset had been the last one, the only one since —
but she refuses to think of her, of akashingo, of anyone but this beautiful shade who had come so willingly to her. her touch is gentle, but her grip is fierce; her body hardened by the sands and by war, but her eyes hold the pure, honey-coated adoration which could only be from one woman to another.

reality often came cold and drenched in nightmare sweats.

yet it never found her. the warmth of being held did not fade. in fact she dared to think it burned almost hotter than she could handle. strong muscles laced each and every part of this warm woman.

loveday leaned into each lavish touch. she, too, was starved. she had tried to keep herself composed but that hunger was brilliant in her wisteria-colored eyes. there was only this, only them.

she buried her face into the rich hues of the woman's chest while she was held, as if she had always belonged there. a thought she would believe — if only for tonight.