Redhawk Caldera Overture: JCS

She became intoxicated the moment he began to groom her. Like a hopeless waif with stone-weighted skirts she was dragged below the surface of her grief and into a darkness that she couldn't escape from. A crescendo of emotions swept through her, growing to an overpowering buzz that made her head pound. If he'd said anything, she wouldn't likely have heard it. She reciprocated his grooming, but her motions lost their tenderness as her motions became more frenetic.

As soon as she'd teased her teeth through his fur one more time she jerked her muzzle toward him and sank her fangs into his flesh with a gesture deft and sudden. With the finesse of a steel trap she latched onto a roll of skin and fur, not to clench and break the skin or squeeze and cause pain, but simply to grab a hold him and  to warn him that he shouldn't dare disobey her. When she growled, it was not a quiet sound but a harsh snarl, though it tapered toward the end of her breath to a keening note of want.

Her heart ached; she wanted to beg him to run away, leave the den and abandon her for a week; but she her grief was buried, temporarily, far too far beneath the surface to stop her now.

Her patience sapped, she released her grip on his shoulder and stood up, shoving her shoulder against his with a growl so that she might force him into action. She didn't know what she wanted-

but she knew what she needed.