Blackbeak Bluff dreams of gods and monsters

"I know you are capable."

there is something darkly remorseful flickering to life within shaded eyes despite slender fingers tugging at charcoal lips to tempt forth that meek little smile. 'if only you knew how much so' she muses in silent response, intensely searching the shifting depths of that sticky pool of honey 'you may not look at me with that strange sheen anymore'. quite disheartened by such a realisation, she tears free from his enrapturing stare to study the shivering blades of grass poking about pale furred toes. why does he study her in such a manner? she doesn't know how to explain what it is he does but...there is something divergent about it. such thoughts leaves skin tender to the graze of such glances and now she needs not even to look in his direction to know where his eye hits for she can feel it as if small claws trail teasingly across the targeted areas of her figure.

swallowing hastily, she peers up to him once more as the steady rumble of his voice tickles at velveteen ears. the air is so much sharper up here than what she's used to, a wolf of shadows and woodland where the air is crowded with different variations of life; she cannot deny the electrifying thrill of lungs expanding to such salty sensations. dizzied by it, she grasps desperately at the sudden platter of responses wanting a turn to bound free from twitching jaws. shivering lightly at the striking chill; her long tail swishes restlessly as minute paws guide her sylph like form back a few hesitant paces only to then return to the brawny build of his exterior.  she is so deeply glad to have him here and yet is ultimately cowed into silence by the confusion that brings. 

gazing deeply, jaws crack "perhaps a bit unorthodox of me but...i find myself marvelling rather than cringing at the way in which our bodies portray such intense experiences" tilting her head in a quick bird like movement, she feels the instinctive pull aid her body in tilting so that the buzzed air writhing between them is significantly decreased "and i believe anyone who disagrees lives a very dull life indeed" were scars not in a sense, art? brutally so perhaps but it was how the body shifted and adapted to deal with the pains it endured and survived. they should be worn with absolute pride, no?