Luneshale Pass colina

very backdated to before soto’s taken prisoner @Leto Amaranthus

it’s not unusual for luneshale’s jaguar to have his collection of women. an assortment not unlike chocolates. one day he reaches for tart, one day he reaches for ganache that melts the tongue and overwhelms the senses.

soto watches this one, so different than the cripple juarèz had kept the month before.

he pauses and hikes a leg. a volatile stream of piss splatters below, the scent heavy and sharp and distinctly pleasing to soto.

other than the brief liaison with the woman from the copse, soto’s let his appetite remain unindulged. he doesn’t like sharing, and she’s not the woman he’d choose to lay with, but an old hunger awakens in him as he watches her move.

soto rises to answer it.

Leto had left her frozen home with hopes of grand adventures, and such things she had received.

Never had she considered that her situation would be anything but pleasant, as she had grown used to the sheltered life of her birth pack. Pepper had been an easy transition away from such things, the paternal figure necessary to adjust her. He had been kind. She missed him, she hoped he could forgive her.

She had followed Juarez with hopes of an exhillerating romance, something that would sweep her off her feet daily. She was left disappointed.

Quickly she was growing tired of her new life. She craved to once again be cradled by those who sheltered her, to feast on otters and laze about in rivers.

Briefly, she thought back to Beau. Had she not returned from her hunting trip, remaining by his side instead, would she still be disappointed?

leto would find most men disappointing. 

soto drank in her features. he understood the jaguar’s attraction to her; she was not made of sharp edges or crafted ruinous by poor experience with other men. by all accounts he saw her as tabula rosa; his — or the cartel’s — clay to shape. 

he strides closer, tail low. his posture may be disarming, but soto’s eyes are anything but. 

women may endure fewer expectations here, but the cartel has the finesse of a cudgel; man or woman, no one lives here for free. 

he wonders what use she will serve as he comes to stand before her.

She was joined by the man recently introduced to her as Soto. She thought little of him, her knowledge limited.

She was yet to hear him speak, she was unsure if he did. Staring up as he approached the cogs in her brain visibly turned, judgements being made, questions being asked. 

"Is there something you want?" Her question was direct - she saw no reason to skip around it.

She had made a decision to take the time for herself today - to step away and see what the lowlands had to offer. She did not wish for such things to be spoiled.

juárez is the brother’s mouthpiece. soto’s the brawn. 

he’s something else sometimes, too. the dispatcher, the gardener. he’s pulled wolves — inconvenient ends tangling the their work — the way he’s pulled weeds ruthlessly from the coca. leave them to live, and their roots spread rot to the fruit. 

he gets the sense she’s studying him as much as he’s studying her. make your move, machismo; tell me who you are. 

her words carry a direct tone to them, but they sound informal. soto never bothered to learn the tongue. it’s ugly and cumbersome, and he refuses to stoop to their level of nonfunction to communicate. 

there’s no rhythm to it. 

vamos. he suggests, tilting his nose towards the path leto only just began to walk upon. he wished to see what she’s up to today.

She quirked an eyebrow at the man. Only recently had she began to pick up on the tongue of those who lived here - she did not have a choice in the matter if she wished to communicate.

Remaining paused for a moment, she then continued down her path. She had not wished for an escort, but she would remain kind. Leto was always kind, she knew no better. She softened her stance and returned to her doe eyes - that was what suited her.

If you were kind to the world, it would return the favour. That was what her parents had taught her.

Her parents had not left their sheltered life. Her parents were blind to the real world. Leto too, found herself blinded.

her stance softens. some kind of alchemy happens behind those doe eyes; like metal melting down to malleable liquid. 

it’s pretty. 

soto follows her silently. he knows luneshale well, but wonders which vista will claim her attention today. 

perhaps she will end up by the babbling springs with their river water cold from mountain origin. or perhaps she wishes to see the field of euphorbias and opuntias; nature’s thorny garden in a climate where even the temperature has fangs. 

he stops for a moment to loosen another secretion of piss. it’s his way of showing the world — and her — that he’s here for business.

She stopped as he did, allowing herself time to question where exactly she was going. With Soto here, she no longer wished to venture far. She would have to do something simple, instead.

Glancing down at herself, the answer was obvious.

Her trek continued, paws turning to take her towards the single source of water in the pass. Sand and dirt were beginning to stain her well-kept fur, she was due for a wash.

Leto had been quick to realize that her coat did not suit the lowlands. It was for too thick, much too bright. It grew dirty quickly in such an environment.

soto hoped leto’s gaze might travel south — it did, but not towards him. she glances at her paws as he scrapes the earth, his stamp firm on that patch of ground.

she makes towards water. soto slows for a while and allows himself to drink in the vision of her swaying hips.

he sees why the jaguar preferred this flavor.

She was quick to slip into the water when it entered her sights, the cool liquid pure heaven against her skin. Only now did she look back to the quiet man.

"Do you swim, Soto?" She was unsure if he would understand, but everyone knew their own name. She wished to pull his attention now, to feel as though she was in his company rather than being supervised.

Rarely did she like those who only watched - they were no fun. They made her skin crawl.

She wanted to like Soto. It was important to like those in your company.

the water embraces her, and for a moment soto can see every outline of her figure.

he does not hide his interest.

she turns back to him, those doe-like eyes inviting him in. ripples of water radiate outward, pulsing from her sodden body to the bank where his paws land.

she speaks his name and his gaze meets hers for a moment; if this is an invitation, she may soon come to regret it.

he likes a very different flavor than his brother.

of all of them, he has yet to take a woman in the shale. he’s practicing an ascetic’s life — it’s green and nothing else. green is his woman, his labor, his fruit, his messiah. he never partakes, but he cultivates and reaps what he sows.

he wonders if the jaguar knows his newest conquest now lingers in front of his brother’s hungry eye. soto wants to see how far he can take it.

he takes one step into the water. another. his stomach tucks from the cold.

he holds her gaze as he comes in, crowding her space to see what she might make of his uninvited presence.

Too close, those words had never once crossed Leto's mind. She had always welcomed the presence of others, taking their approach as something friendly.

Now was no different. Briefly she tucked her head under the water, shaking it as it resurfaced. Letting out a breath she found herself relaxed, her world view shrinking so she could focus on thus moment alone.

She had always enjoyed the attention of others. How they gaped at her beauty, stared at her as though she was prey sitting just out of their reach. But the desire for such attention often left her bored, searching for her next fix.

Soto had stared, he had approached. She wanted to question his intentions.

her head goes underwater.
soto’s tempted to hold it there.

juarez wouldn’t approve of his playthings being broken when soto returns them.

he stays the impulse, but the thought shows in his eyes when she resurfaces.

what if?

without common language between them there’s nothing to connect to; it’s just him, ignoring his impulses. and her, trusting him a little too implicitly.

he wonders if juarez has shown her the green.

he moves from the water, shaking his aching libido as roughly as he shakes out his coat.

he stands at the bank, eyes communicating: follow me.

She stared momentarily. She was yet to get a proper soak, however his eyes spoke of a demand for her to follow.

Rising to her feet she joined the man on the bank, the first layer of her thick coat soaked. It would dry quickly, and she would tend to it then.

She valued her coat for the way it kept her from the cold, for the way it highlighted her features and wrapped around her limbs.

She wished to keep it clean - from the dirt, blood, and trash she would encounter in her lifetime. Only then could it continue to keep her safe.

clean is not a cartel priority; soto has no idea of her wishes as he leads her from the banks. 

water sloughs off in heaps. soto likes her fur, but he likes the pleasing arc of her silhouette sodden more; there’s nothing left to the imagination, from the delicate curve of her inner thigh to the tight uptuck of her stomach. 

he follows the path out towards the floodplain. they walk past a garden rife with marks of his work. he pauses once, another deposit to make the cartel claim known. 

then he motions for her to still; he rifles through a den wafting with the scent of dried herbs and musk.

he brings her a dried packet of reeds, its edges folded and square. inside rattle the contents of green — hers, if she so pleases.

A strange packet was brought to her, and she took a moment to inhale its scent.

Herbs, a mix of them. Juárez had spoken of these, yet she still did not understand. "But.. I'm not sick. There's no need." She gave a crooked smile, brow furrowing in her confusion.

Herbs were reserved for the sick. That is what she had been taught.

Did he believe her to be ill? Or did they have another use?

leto's confused. her brow crumples in a perfect pout.

oh yeah, he can see what the jaguar sees in her. she's corruptible, and soto knows his brother enjoys a long game.

comida, soto instructs, and pantomines an eating motion with his paws. 

the packet's pushed towards her, in her court now.

She eyed the packet momentarily, observed his motions. Eat.

She was unsure of what the plants may be for, yet he seemed to be insistent. It couldn't hurt to try - herbs were meant to help, to heal. They wouldn't harm her, would they?

Opening up the packet of reeds ever so carefully she licked up the contents, consuming them.

Still she did not know what the purpose was, why they had been offered to her.

soto anticipates refusal. there’s always one or two. the cartel finds other uses for them.

she seems to look it over, pondering it as she delicately unwrapped its bindings. but then to his great excitement she consumes it all — doe eyes fixing back on him.

a wide smile cracks across his hungry jaws; the first of such deeply emotive expressions he’d shown for her.

bueno. he sits back and waits.

Soto smiled, and her low hanging tail began to wave. He spoke a word she understood; she had done well. She felt as though she had accomplished something.

But, now what? The question was obvious on her face. He had sat, and now he waited. But what for?

Leto had done what she had been told to do, gained a sense of approval. But what was so exciting about her consuming the herbs? They certainly weren't vegan, that had nothing to do with it.

unless this batch was bad, the green would hit her any minute. 

soto doesn’t give things indiscriminately. she’s a test subject, the first guinea pig of his newest product. 

he sniffs the air; blood takes only seconds to reach the heart. the green, carried on that blood, rides out the entire body like a network of waves. he’d given her enough to dose a buck in full rut. 

poetic, if soto was into that sort of thing. 

the only question is, what kind of high is she?

Leto had never experienced intoxication, never felt the artificial rush of an unnatural substance. Intoxication to her was the influence of adrenaline she got from chasing down prey, or the thrill of new love. The lack of such experience only made it far more confusing when she was hit with what to her was a wall of pure ecstasy.

Her head was growing clouded, her body experiencing an unfamiliar heat. She pushed herself to her feet, struggling for a moment. Her thoughts were pounding her from all directions, she didn't understand why.

"I need to lay down." She managed to grunt out, stumbling as she turned to start back the way they came.

The feeling was far from something negative, yet she felt a sense of insecurity. It was not something she felt should be shared.

soto measures the seconds between her breaths; inhale, exhale —

and sees the celestial dance of infusion behind her eyes. the broadening of black pupil. the dying spark of a drunken star come to the surface —

it’s all part of the cosmic dance of the green.

he leans forward excitedly — hungry to know the potency of his carefully crafted elixir. she’s spinning out mentally and he can tell, it’s in the shaky way she rises and suddenly she announces she needs to lie down.

his eyebrow raises mischievously. with company, he hopes.

es buena, he encourages, motioning with a broad palm towards the soft river grass that could be her bed. venga conmigo. the anaconda purls, inviting her to follow him as he leads her through a forest of river reeds.

As Soto speaks, her busy mind is silenced momentarily. She is encouraged to follow, to keep this sense of peace. Taking in a breath she joins him one step at a time. The river grass certainly looks nice.

The wave returns to her tail as she finds herself inclined to lay down. Crouching, she willingly falls to her side, exposing her soft stomach and the cage holding her ever beating heart.

A smile reaches her muzzle, a pleasant feeling washing over as her body ceases movement.

soto’s ear flicks back as he hears her fall in step behind him. 

bueno. 

they stop at a lush patch of grass and he has barely pointed to it before leto pounces upon it. her body slips into the seams of green effortlessly, the tuck of her belly exposed —

oh, he feels it then. the sharp bite of aching hunger as his eyes travel her whole body unabashed. 

but soto likes tension, he likes feeding the snaking line and watching it ebb back to him. he likes the sense of things being taut, held against and away from him —

she’s sexy. its her fur, he decides. it’s so different than the ragtag pelt of his kin. lush and soft like lazy clouds over a still lake. 

he wishes juarez hadn’t gotten to her first. 

soto watches her expression, her eyes, her body language. it all indicates a gentle peace. 

he smiles again, knowing this batch might be his best work yet. 

that knowledge is almost worth a rough fucking in the grass.