Silver Creek ☁ θολό ☁

There was a brief, heavy silence in which the sylph was resigned to listen to her heart as it tremoured like a war drum inside her chest, breaths rising and falling sharply, a shiver of frosted air to part her lips.

He forced them to breath the same air, and she felt a tremble in her knees, a wobble, praying he hadn't spied it with those bottomless pits of cerulean; presently, her strings were wrapped tightly in Dawson's hands, bending to his will on instinct alone - for a brief pause, she almost forgot about Grayson's rule. His power over the creek wolves, his choice for the selection of wives to pair with husbands, and nearly gave herself up to the ivory prince there, depositing her life to his own grip. No matter the thrumming of her mind, the pulse of her veins, she couldn't- 

Oh, gods-

He was so close. The smoky pitch of his voice reverberated in her ears and the ivory of his muzzle hung only a few inches away; she observed his chest rise and fall, gulping as she absorbed into her thoughts the very shape of his words, the way they slid so easily from his tongue. "...W-What have you thought of me, Dawson?" She whispered in return, swallowing that poisonous droplet he had so generously gifted her.

No doubt the aftertaste would leave a sting in her breast, but for now... it was tirelessly sweet. Intoxicating.