Heron Lake Plateau as scarlet flowers lust for the dew of morning

Quixote often liked play, not that many outside his family would have likely guessed. And on any ordinary day he'd drag out any games just for the joy that hanging out with Raven brought him. It meant he could forget that he could forget that at times he felt like they were barely avoiding the world doing it's best to make things fall apart around them.

But that was a normal day. Perhaps it had been wasted by his silly seeming responsibility.  Now the longer she danced just out of reach, the more he desired to catch her, to bring things to the conclusion they both wanted as he was caught in her inferno. As she pulled away again, he drifted towards Raven again with a low hum.

Qui's mind see-sawed between between wanting to show his own strength (certainly he was too amazing to refuse, so his lizard brain said) or to let Raven have the power over him, making him but a toy. Hell, in the end he really didn't care, either was good in its own way.  It was probably why he whined needily before darting forward to try to close the distance, to make it so there was none. If he could have just enveloped her entirely, that would have been his aim, but he'd settle for being close enough to run his teeth through the fur of her nape -- to encourage surrender, not demand -- with a slight arch to his tail and a show of regality he often didn't bother with. He was the alpha male here -- despite idiocy, misfortune, and generally feeling a bit out of place on a good day -- so if he wasn't already her mate, he would totally be the one she would have wanted anyway. Right?