Fox's Glade ab iniquitate [m]ea

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: suggestive themes

this could be a conception thread, but is open to literally anyone

her breeding blood was late a week, then two, then her time had passed and a soft desperation began to grow harder and sharper in the placid scholar's chest. 

surely, she would not be denied her body's right. surely, the powers would not be so cruel. so displeased by she, so devout and studious.

to force upon herself what should have come naturally, the bear-dog fed upon bitter roots and vile growths, in such quantities that she couldn't sleep a pair of hours without awakening shivering and sick within the confines of the soft earth den she dug within the woods of the valley. 

in her dreams to her came gods and mages and spirits and her own dead children, and she would have thought them all an omen, were it not that they followed her into the waking word, solid and real as warm flesh.

on a starless night the bear dog finally emerged from her den, clad in the thick scent of pungent plants and followed by the miasma of blessed heat.

never leaving the safety to the woods, she called out into the darkness with desirous whimpers and whines, her whole self aching for a man.

A man there was.

Not much of one, perhaps. Scrappy and lanky, a real tramp of a guy, stocky but somehow missing the muscle of his herding and protection roots in favor of the sighthound muscles that seemed to not exist at all. His rangy face was dark in the night, all that stood out being the odd mismatch of his mint and silver eyes, and the red that grew like smoldering embers across his cheeks, chest and shoulders, his stomach, and crept towards his haunches from his tail.

Tonight, Rey prowled.

For the scent of the season had called to him from his shackle of lonely thought, and thus, he came, loping steadily, his nose to the floor.

it was by his scent that she knew him, the musk of a man, grown and mature.

she walked the edge of the woodland, a diminutive shape of thick black fur, and in the dark by scent alone she found her way to the smoulder of his eyes.

she let out a bark, and even if this male was not versed in the language of her kind, he would surely hear the want in her voice.

Fortunately, perhaps, Rey’s ears were in fine form, so when the call came, his head raised, gait slowing to an in place sort of stepping motion. His nostrils flared wide, and finally, he laid eyes upon the scent he’d been tracking.

A woman, as fair as any of them, odd to many eyes, including his own.

But the tramp did not mind a unique beauty, so he returned the bark, just to be polite, then began to slink forward, like an odd furry accordion.

she did not leave the treeline, letting the stranger approach. eyes shadowed beneath the awning of thick brows observed him, the form of him. she recognised the dog in his shape, mixed evenly with features of the wolf. when he approached, she would explore him in detail, noting the doggish tuck of his waist and the lines of his face which spoke of a wildling parent.

if, and only if, she was permitted to do so, she would drag her muzzle from his shoulder, along side of neck and to one pointed ear, where she would whisper, voice coarse with craving; "you are perfect."

She was all dog, like nothing he had seen before, and Rey let that mystery draw him in like a fish reeled on a hook. He put on his best  rogue grin, moving to tuck his head around the probing of her own to seek out scruff, where he gave a deep inhale.

And you, mi amor, must be divine.

If there was one thing Rey remembered how to be, perhaps it was charming. He certainly thought so.

the multideious pantheon which bernadette constructed housed many small gods of fertility and pairing, and in her state of both natural oestrus and artificial euphoria she thought each and every one of them so pleased by her piousness that they sent her this slender stranger - for how else could the timeliness of his arrival be explained?

his reply was enough to make her weak in the knees, but she knew she'd need them most for what this dance was leading up to.

"no, not divine. in service of the divine." she stepped back as to hold his gaze. "and i wish to service you, my angel. my saviour."

She called him a savior and he wanted to laugh. Rey drew his nose up towards her ear, sweeping one leg out to touch one of her back legs.

I am no angel, mi corazón. Just a man.

And a bad one at that.

He knew he would not stay for children. He never had.

she thought to respond, be cryptic and lewd, but her body was on its brink. the sentence wasn't even halfway knit, when the stranger's long paw wrapped about one hindleg of hers, and the shiver that went trough bernadette's body nearly toppled her.

but no. for this game, one needed a strong stance.

in contrast with her usual quietness, the bearwoman would breathe and vocalise with freedom, leaving not a thing unsounded. as soon as one lock broke, she'd coax him (had her gabriel even a name?) into another, again and again, until her joints buckled underneath her.

she'd sprawl over the roots of a nearby tree, once unable to continue, and would drift off into a sleep that in the morning, would wake her with a greater wanting  than before.

whether gabriel would be present to sate it, well, that would entirely up to him, and the wind that carroed him.

His path would not cross hers again.

Rey would leave as soon as she was asleep, his job done, the road open before him. Perhaps, before he left, he would lick between her ears.

Perhaps, it would be a dream.

No matter. 

He began to walk away, and would vanish into the night as soon as he could.