Iktome Plains [m] bouch san

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: conception

days stirred to rain, nights to frothing snow and foaming cold. mireille kept herself moving and silent, trotting beside gathered drifts until the need for water brought her inland.
periodically, she howled for sobeille, standing quiet until it was clear that the echoes would bring no reply.
the fire continued. she did not seek out men but she did not dissuade them either, teeth glinting but flesh on the yield.
in times past, val would have been waiting; she would have conceived by him despite whatever liaisons happened beyond sapphique. it was not to be so this time, and almost mireille dreaded her return.

the woman kept calling! she said one name over and over, and by the time Marius had caught up to her path he thought, 'Maybe it wasn't the name of a man, but a command! These barbarians do not speak clearly.' For if someone called for Marius, especially a woman with such a yearning to her voice, he would surely have come at the first shout! He found himself pitying the women of this place.
The plains were vividly cold, and this woman stood out as a beacon through the wet snow. Marius lifted his chin and called back with an answering tone, then hurried further.

a man, calling. mireille cut her voice away and let him drift through the snow to her. he was pale himself, tall. any other time she might have preened at his handsomeness. now she was only poised, a growl vibrating her throat.
yet posture invited closer the wanting male; her body was all warning and beneath, the softness of desire.
would he take this risk?
her emerald eyes watched, implacable.

Finally someone took an interest in him, and it was the correct kind! As soon as they were near enough to one-another, Marius waved his tail high at his back, and stood proudly a moment, then rounded upon her — he opened his mouth to speak right as she gave a growl, and as enticing as the sound was, he had learned quickly that these barbarian people were not keen on speech. He would not speak, then. It was not necessary — in fact, it was quite welcome!
The sounds of their love-making would fill the plains instead. He was devoted to that ideal. Although, Marius took his time to get nearer to her, and to test her physically in case his nearness was rebuked; he was a little more nervous in case that snarling turned to real teeth.
He was in to some long-form activities but nothing quite so diabolical as being bitten; if she tried to eat him he would certainly turn tail.
In the off-chance she did not drive him away violently, he would croon to her a few times and try to set the mood. Once faced with the opportunity to get what he really wanted he would indeed take it — pleased to have something more his size and shape versus the coymutts that had taken his fixation as of late.

his singing was not unpleasant, nor his general mien toward her. not quite a zealot's worship, but respectful enough for mireille to straighten from her warnings. her gaze drank him in again, and soon her scarlet muzzle moved to take his breath, to sunder her own through his guard hairs.
impatient; she snaked her hips between his forelegs and demanded he be at attention within gamy seconds, for her tolerance of any man was reduced to only the number of minutes in which they might dance together.
her mind wandered.

Precious, forthright, powerful woman that she was!

He got close enough to brave a touch and suddenly she was fully beneath him. It was a response he had not expected but had always dreamed for! To be wanted by the women, instead of always on the hunt for them; and now this strange, angry, thirsting bitch had thrown herself at him in a way that (honestly, should have been off-putting, but) thrilled Marius and bolstered his ego tenfold.

It did not take much further cajoling by the woman for Marius to become so invested, and so ready. She glared at him and demanded with her rolling voice, not speaking a single word but still clear with what his role was to be. So the snow-cut man did reach for her hips, and pull her eagerly against his chest.

Marius was conquering something new in this moment: the heathen, the barbarian, the wild woman who smelt as much of heat as she did of the sea, a heady mixture that bewitched him.

freely given, her choice to accept his eager crook, and yet his movements told of a man writing his own story. mireille bore it for the singular reason that she did not intend a return sans conception.
whatever pleasure he might have elicited was cut short with her own archings, a design of hip and flank meant to help him along his merciful way.
when the end came, a lustful graze of her mouth to his muzzle said again. again, again, to assure mireille that the seacliff pack would have their heirs once more this year.