Lion Head Mesa i hunt the wilderness in myself

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The leviathan recoils back impetuously, ears slicking back against his crown as the water coils violently beneath where his muzzle had been, touching just so upon it’s surface. His drink is broken and thirst only half sated as he looks around, glacial gaze wild before it comes to rest on the intrusion. A male has launched himself into the depths of the drying lake. The ink of the male’s coat is easy to spot against the water where it laps and foams around him and to the Atlanian’s dismay against the bank, slopping his paws slick with fresh mud. The sea shaman’s temperament is as unpredictable and violate as the deity’s that he serves so adamantly and lips curl back from his sharp canines in a snarl of displeasure that ends with a noise that is something akin to a venomous hiss. Muscles beneath his ticked cheeks jump as he clenches his jaw tightly. The leviathan has never been disregarded so ignorantly in his life. Axolotl takes the other male’s presence as he will, not bothering to consider that there is a chance (slim though plausible) that the ebony male simply didn’t notice him. “Do you always treat strangers with such disregard?” The leviathan’s words breach in the silence that is broken only by his low snarl and the disruption of the male’s movements in the water.

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