Black Morass ii. youngblood

like moth to a flame.
why did he even go looking? he probably could've stood at the center and wait to be surrounded if he so wanted.

he rose to meet a pale face. bright golden doe eyes. small and round — for a moment he believed her to have already been claimed. the instinct to bare fangs and chase her off was held back long enough for reason to return to him. she was just heavyset, he didn't see any other signs of a brood. theissor settled back into his skin and spoke first.

theissor. he towered over her, carefully closing the distance as if stalking prey. but even from the respectful distance between them, a scent of the purest and sweetest of honey flowed from her and spun his mind. what is your name, sweet thing?