Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

Akavir speaks of his lineage- of not one, but two parents, both who wished to give a sigil of legacy to their son. It was an idea that warmed her. Eset found herself imagining the refined sounds of these family names, something that would suit a man with a prince’s look but a rogue’s eye.

She would not accept his refusal to drink- her brows narrowing to play at ire. “Go on,” she spurs, immune to the founded skepticisms by virtue of her insulated existence.

Reaching, she edges a berry towards his wrist with her paw and takes one for herself. It’s set upon her tongue to dissipate, prickling her lips. The familiar heated feeling, when it comes, is delicious- a kind of easy sweetness flowering deep in her belly.

“Peyote," she elaborates, “just once.” She skims her leg, one over the other, but holds no shame. Instead her brow bends, considering.

“I’ve never tried to kill a man,” she whispers next, half to placate him, though also because Eset is competitive, and Akavir hadn’t gotten that lengthwise scar from a pissy badger.