Little Goat Mountain [m] eyetooth

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from the glade, through meadowlands and the cresting hills which sloped to forests of dark emerald — through the night they spoke and they kept up the wolf-trotting, miles eaten away behind swiftcurrent and kvarsheim.

before the skies began to grey they came to the thinning edge of the weald and out into the lower slopes of a small mountain which overlooked their path down into the desert. the air here hung too with frost and yet felt more warmed, less heavy.

eivor glanced heavenward and then surveyed the mountain with precise gaze. "there is a gap in those rocks, not a far climb. we will be protected there," the skjaldmaer suggested to @Akavir, taking a moment to stretch an aching arm.

They had moved with a swiftness he had appreciated. Each step brought him closer to Mae—some internal part of him still clinging to the hope of a decent outcome. That not only had she healed quickly, but had not been further afflicted with mistrust after the incident. It was a pipe dream—he knew this—his dark daughter had never trusted even before the attack of the sea wolf… He could not imagine she ever would again.

Eivor’s voice broke the small silence that had stretched between them—his gaze shifting to her and catching upon the stretch of an arm—a motion not derived of leisure, but one surely of a building ache. His first thought was to ask her if she required anything—to care.

His second thought came with jolting clarity that to care, it seemed, was foolish.

It was unfortunate that Eivor was on the receiving end of this bitter tempest that brewed within him, even if she did not realize it yet.

He acquiesced with a nod—though his eyes fell upon the gentle shift of something not far off. He recalled Arric in that moment—and one of the favorite meals of his friend.

“How do you feel about a goat to satisfy your hunger?”

He did not wait for an answer—indicating she should continue upward, and he would find her shortly. His own dark form flickered into the shadows—the skirting path of a predator who was not leaving without his prey.

her companion was pensive. eivor had not sought to know his mind nor his thoughts; she had kept them jovial and shared in the hunting as they moved. "it will be a feast," she rejoined, noting the look in his eye.

she would not be an obstacle to akavir. they turned away from one another then, he seeking the trail of prey and she lifting upward into the recesses of stone until she found its hollow.

nails clicked. paws brushed layers of old dust and sent dessicated bones tumbling into the grass. eivor circled the small room and investigated with a poke of her muzzle the tiny, unreachable chamber at its rear.

unused but for mice, the small cave would rest them before they descended to their desert intentions. her grey eyes glanced for akavir now, amusement flickering for the barren space.

Mountain goat was not a meal he reveled in often—but the few times he had partaken, he had always been impressed by the beast’s horns and the sinew within their compact forms. Bruised, likely, but at least not his ego, the man trailed after the scent of the ivory maiden, casting the fallen goat closer to the hollow entry in which she had found them.

Tongue curling to pull the blood from his lips—he paused to catch breath from lugging such a creature—despite flashing her a cheeky grin as he maneuvered closer. “May it’s strength become ours and prepare us to deal with those who believe themselves Gods,” he murmured, nudging the carcass toward her before sitting down swiftly, his own form bending down to inspect what he assumed was a bruised rib from a wayward horn.

akavir was swift and strong. metal tinge woke her stomach, and she wasted no time in slitting open the goat's belly, steam surging around he and her from the organs. "may hubris be punished."

contemplatively she enjoyed a long strip of fat, at last rising to carry meat in portion. eivor set it beside him, taking the moment to feel the warmth of their mingled fur and the hard power in his body.

a warrior. a drengr such as herself. "you know i am a mercenary, akavir," said the tall woman when she had filled her mouth with blood again. 

"i do not work for free."

iron eyes found his own, laughter in them, daring along the set of her red-stained mouth. 

more meat, and then eivor lay down, belching her pleasure.

A sardonic salute given promptly by the pale warrior as she wasted no time in trimming their meal—a laugh given by the man before he surveyed her raptly, noting the glint of dim light upon the curve of her proud figure. An inclination of his muzzle given at the proffered serving, though it went untouched for a moment as the creek wolf boldly pressed his mouth to her cheek with stolen favor.

It was quiet for a moment as they ate.

Until Eivor’s statement broke through dreary air—stirring an arched brow from the scarred Mayfair as an amused gaze traced over her.

He enjoyed her company perhaps more than he should, and found himself distracted as she sprawled out close to him—a proper belch given which stirred his grin to widen. “I’m not sure I can afford you,” he murmured—his own tongue slipping past his lips to unhurriedly clean some of the blood on them.

her roll toward him was languid, an arm raised to boldly course her palm along the strength of his darkfurred chest. grey eyes lit with amusement, but in her voice was an open tone of challenging desire; "would you like to try, creek man?"

he was unattached and so was she. eivor did not think overmuch of her future, a creature of the moment and the moment's indulgences.

her like for akavir was genuine, her interest true. a delectable seasoning for a long journey was best savored by two.

her own mouth lifted toward his own.

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Ivory fur rolled his way and his own arm snaked out to gather her closer—her words meant to press the challenge out front, but his own mouth was already exploring the graceful arch of her neck, feathering kisses upon her until she pulled him for a more searing one.

Eivor was uncharted territory he had been wishing to explore further front he moment she had come up from behind him in the glen and whispered in his ear. The unspoken knowledge this was casual—supposedly, like how any of his dalliances began.

Arric had accused him once of being unable to handle casual—a certain bright-eyed silver wolf had all but proven that to be the truth.

—He’d been down this road far too many times. A shaky alliance between two packs was best not to be meddled with in such a way and he could practically feel Arlette’s angry glare on him.

But for now that was pushed aside. For now, what mattered was the lissome women in his arms, the way in which he could lose himself within her, and in that moment, the rest of the world could be placed on pause.

Trailing her jaw, his rumble was a low summons to her, offering one last gentle kiss to her before he flipped her roughly, his ministrations bruising now with teeth as he traveled the path of her spine and lower—the beginning of a precarious 'friendship.'

she would find him a skilled cartographer as he mapped the terrain of her fierce body. it has only ever been loved by warriors, eivor's flesh; it was her mantra and doctrine that she not stray from this practice and she was pleased with her choice in akavir.

his own body told stories of its own, scars beneath fur, ridges of flesh hidden by the heavy richness of his pelt. the golden eyes by turns were dark with want, closed in pleasure, piercing in the grasp of his stare.

his arms were strong. her tall femininity, often a dissuading factor for lesser men, was not a reason for akavir to retire now. he met her open want with his own.

a gasp took to the cold air when the creek wolf hilted himself; eivor moved in rhythm as well as tease, intending that the both of them be too exhausted to do more than collapse in wavering.

but for now, there was only heat and clasping, their voices mingled in unabashed delight in soft echoes though their place in the sunspire.

Ebony fur blended to ivory—unabashed in their revelry for one another, the man was a flame to her ice in his attempt to melt her within his arms. Winter might have grazed the air around them, but the chill of it was more than welcome in the aftermath of their carnal delight, but it was with satisfaction that the Mayfair encircled a strong arm about the woman now, pulling the curve of her against a hardened chest, growling softly in her ear as he wondered salaciously if the cries of their interlude had graced the mountain top and the valley below with the sordid affair.

Exhaustion might have clung to his very muscles in that moment, but he was unable to stop the cold of his nose for angling against her once more, admiring the willow-limbed warrior next door. “Bòidheach,” he crooned, eyes wandering over her, wondering if sleep would take her instead. “Where are you from?”

for a long while eivor only lay beside akavir, concentrated upon the gallop of her heart, the slowing of her breath. when at last it seemed she slept, she spoke. "i am from a fjord called brattahlíð. a cold place, of course. my father and mother ruled together. it was not always done this way." she smiled in memory. "my father loved her. but he told me also that had he not agreed to my mother becoming jarlskona, she would have brained him as he slept beside her. the women of my country do not take lightly to disrespect," she said with a laugh.

her eyes found the sky, now warming to dawnlight. "i did not want to follow as leader. i am made for war. so they sent me to wayfare." simple enough. "in my fighting and my travels i became a drengr. jaws for hire and brattahlíð in my heart, wherever i am called."

sleep called, smoothing her down into half-lidded eyes. "and you, akavir? what is the word you said just now and where did you learn it?" for slumber did not quell curiosity.

His paw inched upward—curling about her as he pressed her back closer to his chest, feeling the thrum of heartbeat beneath his touch and reveling in this moment silently. Eivor was grace and power in beautiful package—he almost looked forward to watching her within battle—for surely, at some point, the two would find themselves among it.

Ears cupping forward as she spoke, he rested his head back—eyes seeking the stars, though his attention rapt upon her. Amusement flickered upon his darkened features at the mention of her parents and their banter—quelling the surge of quiet remorse that he would never grasp something like this for himself.

“And then you found your way to Kvarsheim?” A vague question—allowing her to answer as openly or indifferently as she wished.

Her inquiry was natural—but he loosed a small breath, despite it. “Beautiful,” he noted to her, a smug expression flashing through his gaze as they roved over her once more, a paw drifting further down to her hi[, as if to temper his ego at his current companion. “Gaelic—one of the languages passed down along the Mayfair’s.” It was something he had wished to teach his children—but the opportunity nor interest had ever come about. “Rumors or stories would link the Mayfair’s to witchcraft. My father was born in these mountains, though my grandparents would later claim a forest closer to the coast… Donnelaith. My aunts born there were apparently powerful witches—not that my father would indicate he believed in such a thing. My mother was born in the Creek, though her birth pack disintegrated. But it was where she wanted to raise her family, so they made a claim there.”

Blinking once more to the sky, he took solace in the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. “Mostly, I just remember them fighting. Eventually, they moved out of the Teekon Wilds.”

"and so we are both divided from those we love," eivor sighed as slowly the lines of her body relaxed against the warm stone of akavir's form. this intimacy was something she savored after release, though others had found sadness in the fact that eivor did not stay.

she hoped akavir did not come to walk among those spirits she had broken, or perhaps who broken themselves on the blade of her resolve.

let them enjoy this moment of strength and softness, a morning spent in each other's arms as they lay inside this stone temple. the gods were pleased. "so you come from witches, akavir. we have them also. witches. seers. astrologers. but you see what happens when witches are not at peace."

eivor blinked. "i believe there is a great misunderstanding between witches and others in the world. to be so twined into all matters of green and soul, sure it is very tiresome. we are taught they never sleep. i wonder if it is because they are not able."

thoughtfully silent she became. "you say your father turned away. i believe in my gods. but i do not believe in the power of witching. and not its evil. perhaps he meant to spare you." she tapped his encircling forearm with a gentle paw. "you speak his words and keep the creek for your mother. donnelaith must have been so powerful a place to create you, for what is a witch if not a guardian?"

owlcry sounding. a loon echo on a far lake. her heart leapt in ram-sure steps, for Odin walked tonight.

His paw trailed languidly along her side—the brush along her hip, before moving upward once more. Gentle in his caress—the stolen moment of intimacy something to be savored before they presented themselves as hardened once more before the eyes of those who believed themselves gods.

“My father was a man who reacted only to what he could see,” he murmured then—it was not a dispute that he believed the lore of his aunts and Donnelaith—nor was it spoken that he did. “And to that, I understand him. To protect the ones you love is tangible—my teeth and my strength fend off those who wish to cause us harm… Not a spell.”

Sleepily, he blinked—his face pressing closer to the back of her nape, as he considered. “If you were to ask my cousin, though—we, the Mayfairs, are cursed. If you had asked me two years ago, I would have laughed. Now, though…”

"before we go into battle, we kill blackbirds as sacrifice." her paw again ran its touch along his wrist, closing her eyes as akavir breathed in fine pale warmth along the back of the drengr's relaxed flesh. "it is a spell. but it does not take away from the very realness of our teeth."

reminded that his teeth were behind her and she was at a disadvantage, eivor pondered this while the question came. did he want her to ask what had happened? did she want to ask?

silence again, and she almost fell asleep almost not to make the choice. "curses are what we make them. your cousin believes. you do not. his belief in the curse makes it real for you. that is the power of blood," came her yawning voice. "let us sleep. or let you express freely that you are not so tired and i will mend this for us."

her hips pressed back into him, a soft laugh sweetening the frigid winds beyond she and akavir.