Overture Downs godspeak [M]

almalexia drew away from the creek pack, still wrapped in the dark magick of her season. once these lands might have rung familiar to the prophet. in a valley somewhere near, the place of her birth. memories lost to the light of divinity.

under the stars she called out. searching.

@Ingram <33 no obligation

he should not.

he knows this.

knows as the siren call of heat hooks its claws into him; like the temptation of the pomegranate to persephone.

but Osiris does not stop him as he shrugs through the shadows; brutish and hungry, seaglass gaze fixated on the object of his obsession for so long.

but he had resisted — barely — ash paw's heat for her's.

she calls for him and he lets out a low croon. this would be a farewell, the final sever; the last dance.

an answering call;

keeper. lover. betrayer.

almalexia bristled and whipped round, akin to some crazed sea-snake. she swept forward, searching, searching, until her eyes found his through the night. silence poured into the space between them.

no homecoming here, not for them.

creatures of the night were made only to bleed and to suffer.

the prophet pressed forward, seeking to invade his space and crowd him with the scent and the presence of divinity. she needed but one thing from him.

one thing, and almalexia would leave her once-keeper and his betrayal behind for the last time.

ingram trusted in Osiris, severed ties with the dreadfather. he had died to ingram with the falling of basilica.

the patronsaint era needed the ending of the dreadfather era.

needed the last fraying tie to be loosened and cut.

she lunges nearer; a rose hiding thorns that would for sure cut him.

a low growl rumbles in his throat; blinded to all but her and the heady perfume that radiated from every fibre of her fur.

teeth would attempt to snatch fur, to see if she tasted as enticing as she smelled.

he would not deny her this. he was all too willing — [i]for the last time[i], ingram tells himself.

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ah, her ingram,

her iron guardian,

her rotten wasting heart.

almalexia allowed herself one final weakness: a few moments to love him again. was this not the future she had once envisioned so many moons ago on her islands? druids of their own blood, children of the devotion which once tied them together.

ingram, ever faithful, even in his betrayal of her.

when nature allowed their parting, almalexia slid away from him with cool indifference.

i loved you, once,

and if he still knew her as he always had, he would hear the words underneath.

i love you still.

the prophet disappeared into the night, and did not look back. he knew where to find her, where she would always return. and she —

she had plans.

with her words, spoken after they parted from their coupling, ingram does not know what to do.

he simply stares, watching as she disappears back into the shadows she emerged from.

he does not follow.

he bathes himself in the nearest water source, trying to scrub her scent off of him ... though he would not keep this rendezvous secret from ashpaw.

part of his journey as patronsaint was to not keep secrets, despite how good he once was at it.

he makes the journey back to riverclan with fur damp.