The Sunspire go straight at the sun

You.

His ears angled hungrily to the sound; his eye widened in naked arousal. He was surprised, perhaps, that the tone had not been accusatory— and he dare not call it reverence, for he would not let his arrogance shade the mountain druid, whose praise he would eternally seek.

Much like the first time, like moths everlastingly to the flames, Warbone slowly drew nearer with unspoken intention. He felt invited by the halcyon pose taken up by the other male, but this only dictated how he came forward, as his approach was conceivably inevitable. He seemed to hesitate every few steps, watching as if he thought the mirage might dissipate, his face set to the expression one gets when observing something rare and fleeting. Something that could flee at any second...

He inhaled deeply when the space between them had become all but nonexistent. A pale swathe of fur at the man's lean shoulder danced teasingly beneath curious nostrils, and he breathed in a tale that told of miles and miles of earth and sky— rivers and streams he would never cross; hills and hovels he would never see— suddenly wanting to hear the story, too.

For on the topic of him, Warbone wanted to know all there was.

His tongue lashed— tasting— craven to use all his senses to explore this winter's dream before it was gone.