Ankyra Sound in every corridor that shifted the maze, no single part of you was ever the same

the whole friends-with-benefits (friends with consequences really) arrangement he and Nyx shared had done more than just gas up Lycaon’s self-esteem—several days after their inaugural union and many illicit meetings later, the afternoon found him pronking across the strand in the hubristic manner of a springbok, a dreamy expression clinging like ivy to his face.  


there was a whole new world revealed to him and he was endlessly preoccupied by the exploration of that world, little concern paid to anything else, much less things of autocratic importance. he hadn’t reinforced the borders in some time and there was a nagging fear in the back of his mind that if he didn’t start catching up on his scutwork, Wylla would get suspicious and wise and then yank away the brilliant architect of his sexual awakening. 

with her golden litheness still fresh in his mind’s eye (more specifically, her lithe backside), he punched in the clock and began, with a distracted demenaor, to patrol their lot. occasionally, he would stop to relieve himself on clast, bush, and the occasional unassuming varmint that was stupid enough to wander by as he cocked his leg and let ‘er fly. mostly, he just wanted to get the chores done so he could ring up his bootycall.