Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

She knelt there in the shallows, watching him, this lord of the creek, and learning he was not so dignified as he looked; that beneath his poise was a toying boldness that called to her own temper; a dissonance of need and resistance which welled up inside her like a thunderhead.

“You look rather like a god, Maahes,” the coy challenges with narrowed eyes, but unfurls to her paws to indulge in his play. She slips herself into the river’s chill, freeing a gasp that is also half a laugh and allowing the currents to weave through fur and the shape of her stride.

The indigo dusk had pulled a dark night in its wake and the sky above them glistens with a mirror of stars casting back upon the surface of glass. Eset tips her nose, inhaling spring’s yield to summer and the sharpness of cedar in the air. Yet keener still is her own bloom-

Her eyes cut back to the creekwolf. In the dimming light his leonine gaze shone and grew darker. He became more enticing, coaxing her to the cusp of his constellation. She stills, a length away, her muzzle lifted to the level of his chest. She drones for a moment, holding his eyes, lingering in her pause.

“I’ve been thinking all night what it might be like to kiss you, Akavir,” she whispers. A vile confession- but she liked it. She liked having his name in her mouth.