The Sunspire [m] blue spiral

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: backdated to june 27, receptive

it had been an early, hot morning when six kills left the swamp panther village with his warriors carefully encircling muskrat. she was a prize, he declared, despite the fact she was a fighter herself. muskrat said nothing and waited.

as the land changed around them, she had grown desperate. evening brought six kills to call for a camp, and she had gone with the warriors to gather brush and sedge. 

muskrat remembered the elation of slipping noiselessly into the trees, racing back the way they had come. it would be at least an hour before she was discovered missing, and six kills would go to grandmother gorseberry first to loudly state his displeasure.

she and cloud singer should have run then. 

muskrat's mind wakened to the rain of nightfall. the day entire she had spent in the verdant basin. closing her mind to the memory of any men who might have visited, she decided not to climb again, and lay heatstricken and consumed by memory, wishing against all of herself that someone might arrive to drive the reminiscing from her, if only for a short time.

One day, Calahan promised himself, one day he was liable to climb till the summit. But not now. Not when the outlaw's unfortunate leg still occasionally ached from his slip on the glacier. How many months ago was that? Had to be at least three, he wasn't sure. The days had began to blur into routines of exploration, while he still fell back to Whitefish River for respite and rest.

The heat had created a sickening torridity at this ungodly hour. The tawny man wasn't sure exactly why he trailed the burning scent of the prairie wolf, catching a glimpse of her rust toned coat. Autumn, he christened her. Careful not to overstep, he greeted her with an unsure wave of his tail, muttering a greeting. "Howdy..."

as if called, for he was indeed sirened into reach of her, a man arrived.

he was a stranger. her nostrils flared, muzzle lifting to take his scent from the wet air.

the cry of her flesh reverberated inside her head, but there was danger in accepting. the swamp panther wondered if there was more he might offer her, another thing mutual in its pleasure that posed little risk to her goals.

but if not — she watched him, still as stone in the gathering gloom.

Idiot, he cursed himself, for no particular reason. She gave no verbal response to his pathetic greeting, but no indication for him to turn back either. There was a truly awful humidity, courtesy of the rain. The outlaw wished to shake off the mist and retreat to the high winded prairie. He didn't depart.

Hesitantly, Calahan approached, ears pinned back in a placative manner. Surely autumn would drive him away with bared teeth or scathing words, he thought.

quietly she watched him.

thus far he had been the only one allowed so near. a man entire.

the citrus eyes narrowed.

but she was beckoning him next with a heated snort, ready to put aside words and seek in him what the sweetfire madness wanted so badly.

When he was half-certain she wouldn't send him away, the outlaw gained some confidence. With a faint twitch of an ear, Calahan dipped into a play bow, if only for a brief moment. Watching for her reaction, if he wasn't rebuffed, he'd close the distance between them. Still proceeding with a hint of caution.

sorry for late reply!

no timeframe required! <3

playfulness punctuated the initial meeting. muskrat was not compelled by the bow, and stood watching the man with an inscrutable expression.

in the next moment, the swamp panther snapped twice at the air in her own form of amusement, leaping to one side before whirling in intent. she would lead the man along the ridge to run, testing his stamina before she accepted him.

Flicking his tail when she snapped at the air, the outlaw pursued her along the rocky crest, in a consistent pace, hastening into a run. 

Still, Calahan silently wondered if this was all a devious plot to push him from the elevation. He surely hoped she wasn't hiding any malice.

malice unhidden, unsought. when they reached the summit, muskrat turned a leer upon the following man.

she drew close now, tasting the stories of travel upon his pelt, letting herself seek the hardness of his muscles; yes, the swamp panther snaked her undulating hips between his forearms and urged the stranger on with a growl.

Despite himself, Calahan briefly peered over the edge, silently shuddering. He had no such fear or mountains, and yet, this one seemed a bit too high even for him.

A pang of surprise at her advance, pushed away. An impish grin lighting his features, seeking the spark between her legs. 

The sepia man wouldn't let his thoughts wander back out east, not now. A twice told tale: different faces, same story.

they danced once or twice, then muskrat would playfully push the man aside. invitation to hunt, pleased by bloodied flesh, she sought to keep the man's company for some hours.

the anonymity of it pleased the waterwolf, indulging as she was for she did not think she would see him again.

He wondered if her lack of words was because she could not speak or chose not to. The rustler wasn't sure he minded how non-communicative the red woman was.

Calahan did not attempt to initiate conversation, providing her with company until he felt he had overstayed his visit.

He'd return to the river on the flatlands, not quite seeking to visit the mountains again, for some time.

fade here? <3