Wheeling Gull Isle [M] i lie awake and try to recall how your body felt beside me

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: here be baby makin

Maegi had staggered out of the den early this morning, feeling restless. As the hours ticked by, she grew even more so. And eventually, she became aware that something was. . .off. Not wrong, just off.

She summited the mountain at the heart of the island, perched upon one of the taller ledges. Plenty of snow had gathered here, softening any mortal peril that could be brought by ice. She was just a blip in the vast carpet of white; indeed, apart from her gray points and the gruesome exposed gum along her left cheek, she blended right in.

And that was good. All she wanted to do was hide now, and especially hide from @Mou.

That would be difficult. She knew her scent would draw him (and others, perhaps) like flies in summer. Beyond that, she did not know whether she could stop herself from reaching out. She wanted him; she wanted him badly. When push came to shove, she knew she had an obligation to push him away—but could she?

Why, Jaes? Maegi sank into the snow, lost in the drifts, panic coming over her. She was drowning, waves over her head. She felt a pull at her belly, a sick yearning and yet, yet, yet she pleaded for it to end, to stop—

You know I can't.

A gull cried overhead, but she swore it could have been Anansi's last scream, a heartbeat before the tree hit the earth.

Her heat had come, and her blood ran cold.

The desire to be close with his wife had not abated.

She had made an effort to dissuade Mou on the occasions leading to this particular morning, so Mou had given her space, just not a lot of it. When the change came the man was eager for it; hopeful that the shift in hormones would shift Maegi's attitude towards him. He wanted to see her happy again, to cavort among the shadows and solidify their love for one-another. It had been a very cold winter so far, on all fronts.

As Mou roamed he was led towards the center of the island. Maegi sought the ledges where she could vanish in to the snowscape, evidently. Were it not for her twisting sxar she would have been lost to him; the familiar twist of pink flesh and pale teeth could not be hidden from Mou's cyclopean view.

He was slow on his approach regardless of his own desires. Maegi had not been open to him lately. He was not going to push her to do what she did not want, regardless of how desperately he wished to share his love. As he ambled along the ridge towards her Mou watched for indicators of her mood.

She knew he would come. She needed him to come. And so he did, and she lifted her head above her paws, her black nose a dark blip in the snow. She remained laying down, though, letting him come to her—which was funny, given his own reticence. Would they collide, or would the two be held in infinite indecision, like magnets held the wrong way yet desperately shoved together?

I'm scared, Maegi admitted, her voice barely audible above the gale. Her eyes sought his, pleading. I can't lose another child, Mou. It'll kill me.

And yet, how she yearned to be a mother again! Perhaps it was only the swell of hormones, but she swore she caught the scent of a newborn, its milk-sweet breath, clean, fresh silken pelt. She clutched the feeling to her chest, hoping it could serve as comfort against the fear that rattled every bone.

Do you. . .want. . .? She was hesitant, trembling. What can we do?

The weight of their losses would always be there. Haunted by the smell of smoke on a clear night or by the screams of lost children in the dark, knowing that everything they touched turned black with ruin — everything except one-another.

Did they dare try to bring more life in to the universe? Had the gods not already scorned them for their attempts, scattered each family they tried to build? Mou slunk closer; he listened, knowing of this fear, carrying it with himself in equal measure. As well-versed in loss as they both were, would it be fair to try again? To go through it all and be thrice fated to lose it all?

Do you. . . want. . .? Maegi began, and Mou hummed a soft, low note in trying to assert calm. What can we do?

He is silent; it is not like his old silence, the kind that was thrust upon him by the strangle-hold of teeth, or the doubt that thrived inside of himself. It was thoughtful. It was sad. But he reached to preen at his wife's thin shoulder and whispered to her, We can love, and maybe that's enough.

If they had enough love between the two of them, perhaps the gods would be satiated.

If his touch was a match, his words struck it. She felt a flame flicker up from the embers of what once was, deep within her. She sighed, and pressed her ruined cheek against his own, the warmth of him a boon against the chill of late winter. She clung, desperate and then rose, staggering in the deep snow as if drunk.

Her scent wreathed around them, and the gray clouds whirled overhead. You've always been enough, she whispered. 

And it was true, Maegi reasoned, as she steadied herself for what she knew lie close ahead. Her children were dead, her brothers were gone, her friends scattered to the winds. And yet, she remained alive upon the earth—and it was Mou and his unconditional love that anchored her there.

You've always been enough, Maegi promised him. She was the only one who could say such a thing to him and mean it. Everyone else had cast Mou aside; he had never been enough for anyone else. A piss-poor Redhawk, a failed warrior, a whipping boy for the universe.

As she stood and drifted through the snow with a lazy mien, Mou watched her. Around her was the white-wash of snow, a backdrop of graphite clouds. Everything about the passing moments reminded him of Maegi and how much he loved her. Mou followed after her with careful steps, aligning them with the path she made.

He came up beside her and brushed his chin against her hip, up to her back, but did not linger long there. He nipped at her lower back as he pressed against her ribs, testing her limits; if she did not want this after all, she'd have time to rebuke him.

She would not rebuke him. Not now. Not in this moment. She bore each probing touch—hell, she leaned into them, eyelids fluttering. And when the time came, she would not resist.

That was the way of it, she supposed. Body over mind, nature over memory. What she felt for Mou had always gone beyond words and thoughts; something deep and primal connected them. It had to, because why else would she have remained at his side? Why else would he have remained at hers?

Two broken things, come together. It might not be a perfect assembly, but they filled the cracks between with love, and stood firm against the storm.

fading to black here :) up to you whether you wanna get one more post in