Firefly Glen [m]eet me in the woods tonight

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today zharille traveled far, father than she had since finding the lakeside. the fire that had sparked inside of her now grew to a conflagration, and she sought anyone who might extinguish the feeling. the need to seek out strong men had been growing incessantly and so too did her need to roam.

she would return to the lake eventually. there were places to explore and scents to study, and a primitive need to seek men which had never felt so strong before. she did think of khaba, of ensio, and those others she had collected so far — but a new scent caught in her nose now as she delved deep among the glenwood, and this lured her away from the relative safety of her new home.

zharille crooned in to the glen's darkness, wondering if she would find what she sought here - or merely something to chase and to eat, as all her appetites had grown to rival one-another.

Few scents but this led him astray.

He was accustomed to the scent of blood and decay—but this promised more. He was drawn to it, a feral type of magnetism, pulled through the glen as if a string was attached to his sternum.

The hulking gray beast parsed through the trees and came upon the massive agouti woman, jaws slightly agape.

He did not hesitate.

He strode toward her with the purpose of thousand years of evolution, stomach churning, loins aching. His sights were set upon her core and he moved toward her hindquarters, lips lifting to reveal hungry teeth.

Only her fangs and fury would deny him what was rightfully his.

her crooning came in short, intense bursts. sometimes the sound would carry among the trees and sometimes it would feel stopped somehow, as if by a wall, or silenced by the choke of green. someone did hear, though — and they came to her in a rush of intent.

zharille heard the movement of the man's body through the ferns, though it came quickly, and she was bristling with unease even as she turned to meet his eye. upon his face he wore a scowl as readily as the gray of his grizzled cheeks; he moved for her hindquarters without even sharing air with her, and the woman was immediately conflicted.

on one hand the man was forthright and she did like that quality. he looked healthy, he was well fed - though not well groomed - and held the self-assured nature of someone older. he had likely been tested by a scent like her own before, and zharille wished to give in — her tail lashing the air as it arced over her hips.

at the same time, she did not know him. he seemed more wild than anyone she had met yet, and could be dangerous. he prowled by her hips in an overt manner so they both knew why he had come, answering her equally overt call. what reason did she have to deny him? zharille did not wholly relax, but she crooned to him again, and moved to lick the air as close as she could get without doing an about-face.

hope y'all don't mind an interception ^^

The sable woman wandered often.

Khaba did not like this, for he knew the time of immeasurable desires was still here. And having been one—for he thought himself the first—to have danced with her, he did not like the idea of another man doing the same.

He had followed her scent. They were not far from the lake, but still not close enough.

It did not take long for the dark giant to spot her in the near distance. And she was not alone.

A heavy growl rumbled from within. Quick paced, his legs carried him directly to the pair. First, his attentions were on the woman. Then after, the strange man. It was he who received the brunt of Khaba's frustrations, for they were too close to his first partner. 

Wary of how the woman would react to his possessiveness, he tread carefully, circling them both until he directly facing the stranger. To them, his teeth were shown. A second warning growl followed, ears pinning upright.

She came closer, closer. Tasting the air. Tasting the musk and sweetness between them; he did the same, lips parting more, breath coming fast. He rumbled deep in his chest, an answer to her croon, and sought to preen at the base of her—

An intercepting shadow.

A man, big and dark, showing his teeth. His eyes flashed briefly toward the woman in search of a response, then moved back to the interloper.

Get lost, his grizzled face read, his lips curling in a fang-heavy sneer. He lifted himself to his full height and snapped at the man's muzzle, aiming to seize and hold it there, to force him to submit. A man interrupted was a man of rage.

khaba! the man was never far yet zharille thought she had gone her own way, and far enough, to not cause upset to the men of her collection. his fangs and his posturing were invigorating to her in this state, but also wrong. how dare he!?

she reacted as if the target of the dark man. this man she had already conceded much to, now trying to take from her. this was her right! she flashed her teeth and snarled to khaba, tail arcing up.

Neither were fond of his interception. But when the man rose to challenge him, Khaba could not simply walk away.

If the woman wished to have another partner to feed her desires, so be it. But his earned place would not be taken. Not with ease, at the least.

Ignoring Zharille for the time being, Khaba turned his attention to the aggressions of the male. Teeth snagged for his muzzle in an instant, skin of the lip tearing. But he would be held down, never to submit. 

Rushing them, the dark beast forced his weight against the other, eager to cause pain, or even simply to unbalance. His own teeth then sought any place to grab, presumably the nape; but if the other moved too rashly, his reach would find itself against their face instead.

rolled a successful dodge, so we'll call it the nape!

The other, of course, struck back. He felt fangs close against his nape and roared, twisting, trying to send the infernal shadow to the side. Once he'd successfully—hopefully—dislodged the other, he'd crouch low and then he'd. . .

Fuck. What next?

Did he care so much about this one woman?

His nostrils flared and filled with her heat-scent and he decided, yes, yes he did care enough. He surged forward, if possible, to attack the other's ribs; to strike between foreleg and belly and pummel the flesh there, teeth bared.

this was between men, naturally. it was a fight for their future as much as it was for zharille's body. she would have enjoyed the sport of it had she been in a better place, mentally, but she saw khaba as a threat and an annoyance, rather than a contender. he had gotten what he had wanted from her - and she held a mind of her own, able to make this choice. it offended her that anyone would come between her and her freedom.

so when the men clashed, zharille watched - and then she struck, also, for khaba! her aim was to reprimand more than to wound, but her vehemence in the moment knew no boundaries. she would drive the man of the darkwood away if she must; though the grizzled newcomer did not need her support, she gave it.

zharille's aim was haphazard; she did not want to permanently injure anyone, but had to get her point across. leave, khaba! this was her decision to make.

Not only would this other man attack him, but the sable woman would as well. They both disliked him so!

But how could Khaba so easily respond? He was not accustomed to fighting more than one body at a time. So, simply, he would not react. Whatever tooth or claw aimed, they would strike their target, leaving blood to trickle in their place. 

Zharille pushed for him to leave. It surprised the dark man, but he would not argue if this was her want. He had done what he thought was expected of him — but, clearly, he'd been mistaken.

Taking his new wounds with him, the beast snorted heftily towards both before sharply turning and lumbering off.

The shadow began to depart, with urging from the woman. Oh, yes! She sided with him, and he joined her in driving the other male off, drool slipping from his jaws, every molecule of his being twitching and burning for the fight and for lust.

And then. . .there were two.

Dhizok turned toward the she-wolf and loomed over her, stepping fast to seize her scruff in his teeth and hold her fast.

Should she shake him off, he will try again.

His belly was aching, ready to bring her fast against him.

the darkwood man met his match against not one, but two! he did not retaliate. as he relented, as he departed, zharille felt a stab of certainty within herself and nothing else. there was little remorse within her on any typical day, and on this one - as she stood aflame and with a man ready to take her - she felt only good for getting what she wanted.

the other man would know the taste of victory; he came quickly to grapple with her, to take what he was wanting, and zharille would let him - although she gave a powerful rumble in response to his handling, which soon faded to croons of passion.

The rumble set his loins afire. She was not meek but a fighter. He buried his teeth harder, pinning her down, throwing his forelimbs around her with fevered excitement.

She could shake him off—but she wouldn't.

He gave in to passion, gasping, eyes rolled back into his skull.

Whether he'd met his mark or not—he would at least spill over.

vague :)

it was different with each of the men of her collection — and where some had more pleasure than pain, this coupling was a muddy mix which flooded zharille. but the deed was done! the two of them satisfied, she was contented enough.

there would be marks upon her, marks he'd left, to link them beyond this moment.

fade?