Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

Her eyes are fast upon him—a deer in the midst of realizing a predator is near, it seemed. There’s a rush of guilt within him—a hope that she did not shut down to him and flee. Never before was he more disappointed that his guess had been correct—and that he had struck her with reality as if it were a slap.

His mouth is dry for a moment—eyes careful upon her.

She finishes the game—a berry delicately placed upon her tongue and he finds himself jealous of the fruit for a moment. A haze of heady scent and of fermented fruits—forbidden treasures, perhaps. A stark reminder that many times before, he had held women he had loved in his arms.

How she would fit so perfectly within them, as well.

He lifts a paw, scrubbing it down his face for a moment—gruff in his motion before he sweeps upward, languidly moving to the creek waters and testing a paw to the depths as he considered her words.

And he trails farther in—body swiveling, turning fully to her as evening stars begin to flicker in the descending darkness. “I know that after being in the desert and the harsh sun,” Or, even, the harder stares of the pawns within the games they played in the palace, “that nothing is more refreshing then washing the sand and the remnants of Gods from your fur.” He dips his muzzle lowly, tracing the tops of the water before ducking it further in, daring her closer.

But who was she to these Gods?