Ravensblood Forest [m] salt binding

a growl, but it is not thirsting for blood. rather, body. a dance of sea and waves, the lady who bid he chase her through the woods dances. dances! and crowell dances too, seeking to meet every motion.

the allure of salt and iron. crowell watches with the eyes of a hungry sea-dweller, as she sashays before him. the tuck of her tail to the side, the slow arch of her body downwards; an inviting raise of hips. hips that speak his name, that shout for connection!

the bastard practically leaps with excitement for her. paws that often look too big for his lithe legs grabbing her, snatching the woman by the alluring curve of feminine hips. leaning over her, forelegs finding her shoulders, nearly barreling the both of them over in a vicious fighter's hold.

the interlocking of his hips with hers is aggressive. the rocking an immeasurable pace, unrelenting, as claws anchor to the earth. the howl of a depraved man to announce his victory! he had conquered the brine.