Blackfoot Forest starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

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salmon tongue flickered across her muzzle, finding there yet a hint of metal from the tiny catch long left behind. she'd slipped from the borders under the guise of seeking hunting ground, yet she'd truly only sought a brief respite from the craggy peak. something in her had shifted and settled; acceptance with what she'd done had come finally. 

and yet with acceptance came a silence and openness she did not know what to do with. she settled at the base of a tree, branches searching skyward as night lightened into dawn, the taint of day breaking over the horizon. ears flickered as somewhere above her a robin gave it's morning warcry, auds twitching as she slipped back to her paws, adopting a stalking trot as she wove betwixt the trees in search some creature that would validate her being here.

Her beckoning scent pierced the morning air like a beacon parting the night, jolting him awake. Perhaps he would have left it... Cassiopeia existed only in his past after all. But there was something undeniably enticing in just knowing she roamed so close to him after so long apart. The chance to even lay his eyes upon her may not have ever come again, and simple curiosity would not allow him to return to his slumber without becoming unnerved with wonder. And so, he lifted himself with haste and latched onto her trail hungrily.

Vaati had never explicitly loved her -- though it had come close to it. What he had felt for her was a deep and ravenous possession, swallowing them both equally in its immeasurable strength. She understood him, in a crooked sort of way. She had shown him how far he was capable of going in order to break someone completely; to rip apart another’s very essence and start anew. It was as if he had broken every bone in her body and set them slightly crooked so that as she grew, she would no longer take the same form as she did before, but of something else entirely. He had crafted her to his will, and he would forever appreciate her for it. In the end, even she was unable to tell what she had become. A botched experiment, Vaati had reduced her to, upon her fleeing. He had never seen her again after that. Not until he found her weaving herself silently through the stygian night, vanishing in the darkness and reappearing in the humming light as the rising sun stretched and waned in the distance. He took his time making himself known to her, choosing to simply stalk her through the silent dawn rather than corrupt the timely peace with what was about to occur, for just a while longer. But it would not last forever, and he knew this. Before she could travel any further did he cut her off in her path, planting himself confrontationally before her. No words were uttered and they didn't need to be. The tension radiating off his body spoke enough for him.

and then he was before her, and she made still.
he brought back sharply the sting of burning river, of cutting darkness and twisted sadness so sharp it'd cut deep into her chest. too of fear and hurt and the dark stench of stone; of whispered oaths and a birth better unseen. of a witch and a pact; yet better things too. a love that existed only where the canopy blotted out the sun and she was little more as an experiment.

she does not speak but draws in his scent, carefully, moss-green gaze meeting his. she is silent is she is stoic; opposite of the spitfire in the cave, opposite of the woman who sought death in order to feel. and he is not the king he was, a titan yet but without the thick mantle of the wood. she wonders what became of his throne. she wonders what became of all of them, after whispers of war. she does not reckon they were defeated or driven out, at least not for long. 

she does not care and yet she has questions, does not care yet wants him to burn for all that he has stolen. these things war inside her as her tension joins his.  "hello, vaati." 

Vaati feels a nervous twitch develop in his eye. “You ran. Why did you run?” He holds an accusatory tone, unnerved by her placid composure. She had betrayed the woods and everything it stood for. Yet most importantly, him. All the time he had spent, all the effort he had gone through to completely rewire her… wasted in a lapse of judgement. Perhaps he wanted her to say it was a mistake, to profess her sincerest apologies and beg for his mercy. But he waited, and she simply didn’t. And when she didn’t, he felt rage. “I should kill you.” He threateningly stepped forward, fully envisioning the action and willing himself to carry it out. A few months ago, it would have been an act to scare her. But now, he truly wasn’t so sure that he didn't mean it. They had grown apart, you see.

his eyes twitches and her emerald ones do not leave his. she does not remember a time at his side when she was anything but beneath him; a time when some part of her was aware that he held fast to the reins and she gained not an inch more than what he allowed. and she did not realize it, took every little inch and thought it a victory. 

she did not answer his question, but her chin lifted an inch to better survey the man before her. she owes no explanation. she does not seek to tell him that she sought death in an icy grave, thought feeling there too. that once she ran she understood what had been stolen. the green fire that ebbed and flowed in her gaze during her time in the wood is gone, replaced something unmoving, unchanging. it does not flicker when he offers his threat, and her voice is not long in reply. "you should try." not could, a taunt. but should, for he should try to rip out her throat and see just how successful he'd be. just how successful her father would be. the absence of the wood on his pelt speaks enough for itself, and she continues after a beat. "but without your throne, who will you enlist to lick your wounds?"  the scar around her throat burns, a target, just a little deeper than her father had gone as she would bleed out in the summer-burned grass.

Perhaps he should have expected her defiance, she had never been the sort to roll over unless forced. It was something he hadn’t been able to break out of her, and it infuriated him to no end. To see her submit wholly to his whims was all he ever yearned for during her imprisonment within Wolfskull Cave, but it had hardly come to pass before the screeching boy had stolen her away. Yet, as he faced her months later, he found the innate need creeping back to him slowly as if it had barely left. “Watch your tongue. Your words cannot spare you your life, clearly.” The words roll out in a snarl through the gaps between his canines, stepping threateningly forward once more with his eyes settled on the scar that wraps around her neck. It pleases him that even while he was absent from her life, her blood still spilt at the claws of a stranger. Perhaps it should bother him that someone else had touched what was rightfully his, but instead, he cannot help but to salivate at the mere thought that she had bent, at all, even to another.

“I should remind you that I broke you long before I held the woods as my own. Perhaps after I break you again, you can find something else to lick besides my wounds.” He looks down on her as he says it, a particular lustful aggression buried deep within his gaze. Why he seeks to hold dominion over her is something even he does not know, but it is a deeply seeded desire that is unchanging in its strength. She represented something to him that he did not want to confront, something very wrong riddled deep within himself that felt dangerous to even approach.. and so he did not question it for very much longer before his eyes drifted lasciviously to her neck once more.

something begins to smolder. a dark, twisting fire that leaps and twists along her spine. she wants to see him burn, and too does she want to leap into the flames alongside him. she sees where his gaze settled and tips up her chin, granting him better view of the gnarled wound and meeting his gaze over the bridge of her muzzle. there is a hint of that quiet ferocity there, but none of the green fire that danced there when she was his captive. "I do not break."  she offered, motionless. he did not succeed in his quest to make her obedient, submissive to his whims. instead, he whittled and cut at her until little remained but the core of her, something that had grown over the months past to fill the gaps occupied by fear and shame and regret.

his words lend fuel to flame. she remembers blood and a rabbit, and the one and only time she felt the scales tip in her favour. she closes the distance between them, somehow, and they stand close enough to burn together. she bends. she sharpens and hardens and builds herself back up, but never has she broken. she has come close, dangerously close, danced on the edge and drawn herself back. repeat. as she did that day, her muzzle slips forward and she draws her tongue across the side of his muzzle, fleeting. "you won't do that by flashing your fangs and muttering threats."  she withdraws a fraction, but does not shift.

Still, she denies him the pleasure of seeing her break. It aggravates him, but he swallows the irritation that seems to rise in his throat, for it is clear that she is playing his strings as much as he is playing hers. Perhaps he should know by now that gaining her silent obedience is not something he should expect, but what truly catches him off guard is the feeling of her tongue drawing down the side of his mouth and the subsequent feeling of heat stir in his hind quarters. Not that he lets his moment of brief shock show, of course. The fleeting moment passes quickly and no sooner does he return with a rebuttal of his own, unable to let her believe that she was completely free of his will. False hope was a cruel joke, after all. “All in good time my dear.” He flashes her a toothy grin before his canines seek the soft of her neck. Carefully they graze the skin - it is a power move, clearly - but the action is awfully tender by Vaati standards. It doesn’t last long, however, before he moves to sling a foreleg over her back with clear intent. He isn't in the business of forcing himself upon unwilling women - his own mother’s past trauma had assured him of that - but he could not deny that he yearned for her in a way that was unbearingly fierce. Whether is was born out of lust or hatred was another matter entirely, but the undeniable fact remained that he could not walk away from the encounter without having attempted to either kill her or fuck her, to put it quite frankly.

they are entwined in dance, one that becomes more dangerous with every word and touch. she feels his reaction, or in the least expects it so fully that she imagines it. his fangs along her throat have her grin, and she imagines her fangs doing the same, harder, biting down and tasting blood. then he is moving past her, slinging a limb over her back. she expected this and didn't, saw the lust in him and did not know how it would progress. her gaze follows him still, bright and quiet. rumbling growl stirs in her chest, yet she does not stir. 

there is cool strength in her gaze, a challenge, something whole that tempts him to shatter. there is no chance of this dissipating, now, and she pulls her cards close as she twists back her muzzle, words sliding off her tongue. "I dare you, my dear."  an echo of his own words, and yet a part of her does not expect him to truly go through with this, not after he'd fled the first time the hint of something intimate had occurred.

To his mild surprise, she does not pull away. Instead, she challenges him to a task he has already accepted even before her clever dare. Vaati doesn't waste time, pulling his heavy frame over to connect his body with hers in a fluid motion. He grips her tightly, moving hungrily in particular kind of feverish passion that had lingered between them for far too long. Admittedly, he is rougher than necessary, though his lack of concern can be credited to the fact that he does not love her. What exists between them burns brightly in intensity, but it is far from affection. It is an innate possessive need, one that will always ensure they are not far apart too long... but it is ultimately, wholly destructive in its nature. He recalls a time he had run from intimacy with her, but, he had been just a boy then. And she had been a weak little girl. Perhaps in another lifetime, they might have existed as something beyond threats and sex, but such a reality existed only light years away. However, Vaati does not think on it for longer than necessary before finding that the pace between them slows to a sultry waltz in time. The matter of her bearing his children doesn't come as a concern to him, knowing well enough that the heat season had long since passed and the possibility is nonexistent. Though, it is not as if the notion of potential life created between them completely deters his interest, in fact, quite the opposite. Yet, Vaati knows he is in no position to take on the responsibility of fatherhood, or anything remotely close to it at present. That did not speak for the future, however.

it is quick and rough and she is underwhelmed. still, the fire burns as they shift and dance. there is pain but she bears it, and when he has spent himself atop her does she move swiftly. like a viper, her muzzle twists back violently and grabs at the soft underside of his neck, grasping it with the same lightness as he a moment earlier. here the fire twists and burns, fevered passion reaching a peak not at their union but now, when he stands above her yet she has her fangs at his neck. 

she imagines the lifeblood there, tearing at it as she tore at her father. but these are thoughts without substance, and when the rumble in her chest turns to growl and then again silence does her grip loosen, gaze burning amidst the sleek darkness of her features. he, they, are a drug and already she finds herself addicted after so long of leaving him dead and buried in the back of her mind.

He watches silently her as she holds him at deaths grip, resolute optics boring into hers as they remain locked in an icy staredown where the passion is lost and the aggression returns. Yet, her jaws wrapped around his neck in a deadly hesitance in which she struggles with whether or not to complete the action. But she won't - he knows it - and before he can do anything to make the option unavailable to her, she slackens. She bent, or at least Vaati believes she does. Unfitting to the situation, he offers her a toothy grin before voicing her an ominous parting, “I’ll be seeing you again soon.” Without another glance does he depart her company, taking with him a twisted sense of accomplishment. He had got what he came for. Vaati doesn't suspect he will see her again for quite some time, but their paths were inevitably bound to cross again in the coming months, or even years. Perhaps next time he would attempt what he could not before and simply end the matter of their peculiar situation altogether in the most final way possible. To do so was certainly not beneath him.

they part, and her gaze is lit anew with smoldering intensity. they danced and they proved their ability to tear out another's throats, and yet nothing had come to pass. at least, no blood had been spilled. "try not to die, in the meantime."  she wonders how many enemies he's made in his time without throne, and hopes none of them kill him - she is not sure for the reason of the thoughts, whether it be her desire to take that honour or some other reason she does not dare examine. wild grin part her muzzle as she stares him off, so odd and stark against her features. then she turns her back on him, and is gone.