Honeyed Pasture we were like gods at the dawning of the world

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A muscle beneath the Leviathan’s ticked cheek jumps as he watches her attention rise from the herd to him though he does not speak initially. It occurs to him that perhaps he should apologize for staring but on the topic of admiring her beauty, on her ash and fire forged pelage a brilliance of colors unlike any he can recall seeing in his life of browns, creams and inks Axolotl is unabashedly unapologetic. He has heard from the older males of Meares Island that women are like the Sea. The leviathan finds himself — as peculiar as the time is for such things — wondering if there is truth to those words. She certainly looks like she could be like his untamable deity: strong, fierce, harsh if given the opportunity to be so. Her guard remains up, he notes, as is the rise of her tail. The Atlanian acquiesces, relaxing his shoulders to show that he means no challenge of her. The Coast is his domain, where he feels the most powerful fueled by the command of Atlan and the authority being Their warrior shaman bestows upon him.

She returns his chuff with a hum that banks on the edge of being a purr and the leviathan’s ears cup forth, alert and rapt to her as he lingers upon the sound. It strikes the leviathan as unusual but undeniably pleasing all the same. She breaks the silence further than he and offers him words, a verbal greeting to accompany her soft humming purr. “Hey,” The leviathan replies his glacial gaze moving from her to the small herd for a moment before it goes back to her. It is not hard to put two and two together and after a moment he speaks, “I was going to head further inland to see if there was a hunting opportunity where the odds are more in favor,” Even for two of them he thinks it is too risky, as well protected as the long legged fawn is. “You’re welcome to join me.” He extends the invitation.

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