Moonspear blood [m]oon rising

IT BEGINS!

 

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Implied bow-chicka-wow-wow @ the end, but vague.

 

It had been several days of turmoil, of holding onto herself, every piece of it, until the night came where she was in control no more. Gone was inhibition and fear; gone was her hold upon the reins of her ambition, which reared its head high—as high as she held it now. The Ostrega had truly become a woman, now, and with a flourish her plume righted itself just over her hindquarters in a proud arc. She was in season, and she would find what was hers and take it. 

What it was, exactly, she still was not certain. Her mother had provided her with some insight, but here and now only action would answer the curiosity that burned her. She was a woman on fire, and each wave of her plume fanned the heat of it out and beyond her. Hydra weaved in and out of the trees, ascending up a mountain that had always belonged to her mother, her father... her, too; in all things, she had been her parents second in command. 

The heat within her stirred. She wanted more, more, more; like her father, there was the idea of creating, of continuing, legacies already begun. Bettering and strengthening. She considered their bond quietly as she rose, thinking of her father who had fled the mountain. He would return, surely... but perhaps not to the same home he had left. Her mothers fears were not entirely unfounded in the week of her season; she knew no boundary she would not cross to get what she desired, though first and foremost seemed to be to uncover what mysterious spell her body had woven upon her. 

Hydra lingered near a peak with ample space and room, head and plume both still erect as she gazed out toward the horizon. She hungered, but her appetite was not for any food she had ever known.