Lion Head Mesa [MP] Hidden within

The days pass. The weeks. After war, the victorious flourished. The lands buzzed with life. 

Naberius enjoyed the luxury of royalty. He drank from pools of water soaked with berries. He sang (howled) to the open skies. He cast flirtatious eyes to many and listened to any gossip given. 

Mostly, he was care-free and happy here, once again. His restlessness quenched by the arrival of so many to entertain him. He watched the warriors spar with much interest. Watched the scouts and hunters on their trails and the healers pick at herbs. 

Today, he extended his watchful eyes beyond the red rock walls of the mesa and into the open plains. He followed the winds and then, he followed the vibrance of a bright yellow butterfly, playfully snapping his teeth at it when it got too close. It took him to the river and he leaned down for a drink. Within the shallow edges, an even brighter vibrance caught his attention- a large emerald, mostly polished over from its journey through the river rocks.

Zaahira had already been at the banks when she'd spotted him.
Another day, more time passed, one-sided conversations with the Raven using words she didn't know until long after she'd already left.
The worst thing about grief, for Zaahira at least, was the never ending swirl of time, days and weeks and months as they pass. The Zaahira of today is a woman Selena would never know.
Would she be proud?
The momentary distraction is provided when she paces — more like stumbles — just beyond the grave and further to the shallow end in search of a drink. There, she sees him, locks eyes upon his slim figure; the Neb, to whom she had never spoken with. Oh, he is looking at something lodged between the rocks. I am sorry. she wasn't sure why she said that.

Her stumbling approach caused his ears to swivel. Her voice had his head lifting up into her direction. One of the feral wolves of the great lake. He had seen the Mazoi wander the edges of the territory and guard the halls a number of times, yet never had spoken to her directly. In ways, she looked much like him: A medium height of a sleek hunter's build. Browns, blacks and tans throughout. Her gaze was one of fire, and Naberius? A paler sunburst, orange at the outer edges, fading to peach. 

For? He questions her, quite nonchalant and his head tilting ever slightly. After all, they lived in a rather open, dry land and it was at the height of summer. Surely she did not feel sorry for coming to drink.

I do not want to bother, she responds, a flatness to her voice. I see you have made a discovery. amused, she points to the emerald, glistening with clearwater, and gives a shrug. She sought not gemstones nor finery — a simple life, yes, but it was all she knew.
She lowers her muzzle to the surface of the stream and takes gentle laps from it, and all the while, her eyes remain locked on the neb. A pelt of wildfire smoke and oakwood, embers flecked here and there — he held the same proud stance and slim build as her. Perhaps desert was not so different from sea.
I do not think we have met. I am Zaahira. Mazoi. though she assumed he knew that, she says it anyways.

You are not. He made sure to let her quickly know. Naberius was a social being, quite a great deal more then some others. And while this one had not caught his attention quickly in a sexual way, as some others, she was nice enough to look at none the less. After all, if he thought her ugly, he would be much the same calling himself this, too. Obviously not the case! Besides, she might be quite witty or interesting, too. Just because she was a part of a place that mostly grunt and snort for vocabulary, didn't mean she was incapable. 

It is beautiful, is it no? He asked as she looked to the gem and he turned back to it then as well. She did not seem to hold much interest for pretty trinkets, by lack of smile or brightened eyes of want. I think, I should present it to our young Queen... He ponders. But of course unless I find someone more deserving. He would tease then with a crinkle of his nose. 

I don't think so. He muses then as he dips his muzzle into the water and plucks out the gem, resting it between his legs. I am Naberius Cyrus, Neb here and Prince of the Land of Sun and Sand. A mouthful, but not as much so as the Queen herself.

It is beautiful, yes. present it to the Queen, he says — for what? Was this one of Toula's suitors?
Her gaze turns critical; wary. Queen Toula has had many suitors arrive as of late, seeking her hand and consequently the prestigious role of pharaoh. But the Queen is young — hardly beyond her first year of life, innocent and doe-eyed. Men were dangerous.
In Zaahira's eyes, her beloved redsand Queen deserved only the best.
He teases, introduces himself — was he flirting? Zaahira herself could not quite tell. Pleasure to meet you, Neb, a courteous smile graces her features, a sultry bow to her lips. Play the game. One forepaw dips down, now submerged. Care to join me in river? It is very hot today, no?

The warrior's gaze turns hard- one critical and wary. Had he offended her with these thoughts of gifting their Queen the brightly green gem? Maybe she wanted it after all or, maybe it was something far deeper. Naberius did not know that it was the thought of courting their Queen which turned Zaahira's stomach. Many men came to court the Queen. Did the idea of their own Lord put her off more? 

Then, a smile. A pleasure, she says. Now, Naberius finds himself secretly questioning the woman's intentions. She speaks of a dip with her in the waters and Naberius lifts himself, his lips pursed. How about a spar, first? She was Mazoi, after all and it had been some time since Naberius had practiced himself.

A spar. Now he was speaking her language.
You would spar with woman? she gives a curious tilt of her head and a velvety chortle. That surprises me. I would have thought the neb would be above such antics. her chin lifts. But sure, why not? I do not have much better to do.
She peels away from the river's shoreline and instead positions herself in a ready warrior's stance — knees bent just slightly, neck protected by the curve of her head, body stiff yet ready to spring at a moment's notice.
Her eyes ablaze, her smile devilish. When you are ready.

She looks both surprised and weary by Naberius' suggestion. Why not? He says with a grin, I love women! Though i have learned they can fight far more dirty then men. He enjoyed them more even then he enjoyed a man from time to time. Woman or man, Naberius knew each one could be built the same or built differently. Naberius was of mexican and red wolf blood. Not particularly the largest of his kind. He had been both outfitted by those much smaller and those far larger, like the winter-blood Mackenzies. 

Then, on a more serious note. I am a Cyrus Prince. Though I am not heir, which is why he was able to go off galavanting here, I would not hold the embodiment of strength and authority if I cannot protect myself, let alone my people? He lifted a brow to her then, with a bit of a playful 'duh' expression on his face. 

He then instructed, The wolf then jumped a few paces back and squared his limbs, head lowering to align his spine and ears back. His tail did a happy-high dance behind him. Come.

Let me know if you want to do rolls!

i am too simple minded for tabletop LOL so i prefer to just wing it if that's okay with you! <3

He talks of his history — to this, she gives a chuff. Dirty, not me, her chin, a proud lift; I would say feral.
There is no hesitation. She lunges forward, giving a fake-out before she darts around his side, a snap of her jaws to his heels in hopes of making him jump. If he were to whirl around to face her, she would aim for the scruff of his neck; pupils pinpricked, hackles raised, a tenacious curl to her lips.
Perhaps merely months before, she would have had no grace or tact; a truly feral woman, running on instinct alone. But today she holds Sekhmet's strength and wisdom within her bones, she snaps the serpentine jaws of a mazoi.
A woman of Akashingo.
And oh, how proud she was. No longer did her moves reek of Khaba and the Lake — this was sweeter a victory than any spar could offer.

Sounds good to me!

A chuff, a raise of her chin. Even in the presence of a Lord, she is confident, at least could be so in her chosen field and this day Naberius would test just that. Feral. It had been the exact word he used to discribe the warrior women who had come from the Greatwater Lake. Though now Zaahira seeks to shed the scaly skin of what she once were and presented herself as a mazoi of Akashingo. 

And she is swift! She feigns and he turns into it to snap his jaws on open air just as she switches tactic on him, whiping around and to his side. But this is Naberius own way of battle too. Long-legged and swift, Naberius often danced around his opponents until he wore them down. Who would ware down first? 

A back leg kicks out at her, a well distraction at striking her face as his body folds to the side, to turn and face her in retaliation as she so expected. But he comes low, going for her forelegs to have her start dancing away as well.

His tactic is not unlike her own. This, she revels in. A worthy opponent.
He kicks; she misses her lunge for his scruff, and her forelegs are now targeted by his jaws. A laugh ripples from deep down, heady and nearly joyous, before she decides to go along with his goading.
If a dance is what he wanted, a dance is what he would get.
She whirls around in smooth parallel, giving the occasional nip or clack of teeth; watching, waiting; before she makes a determined swipe at his flank. Her goal is to overwhelm, to confuse. The art of war is just as much about mind as it is body. Another snip, this time near his chin, before she reels back and butts into him with the top of her head in an attempt at knocking him over.

They begin to dance around one another in a whirlwind of earthy colored blurs of fur and flashes of fangs from seeking jaws. 

As she spins, he does so with her, circling and snipping at one another. She bites at his flank, he bites at her own in counter. Seeking the soft flesh between her torso and thigh. She reaches for his chin, cutting into it as he lifts a foreleg to smack her in the face and away from him. 

Then, she reels back running into him with a headbutt at his shoulder. Naberius tries to jump back but falters, hitting the red sands on his side. Instead of trying to get up from this position, he rolls further so that he is on his back and curls his legs against him before kicking them out at her. Either she gets kicked by his legs or she jumps back, but either way it buys him enough time to get back on his feet again.

She succeeds; but perhaps she has gone too far. Hind legs come for her in a defensive bash, and she does not swoop free without gaining a clip beneath her ribs.
Her frustration is evident in the wild flash of her tongue from between black lips, spine arched as she careens backward. A breather, before she aims again for the thick skin at the junction of his neck with eager teeth, glittered with a thin sheen of saliva.
No more games.

He gathers himself onto all fours. She jumps back, taking a breather. His limbs are splayed, his head low between his limbs and she charges for him. 

Naberius tucks his head down, her teeth sinking into the thick folds of flesh and fur at the back-side portion of his neck/scruff. As she seizes it, he would then tip his muzzle up, seeking to snatch her own neck as he comes from below. It is her throat which is closet to his reach now.

i am so sorry for the wait, i'm gonna tack a conclusion on here for trade purposes!

His teeth snag at the windpipe resting beneath hot-blooded skin, and her response is a wild snarl and a swing of her forepaw aimed at his jaw; an attempt to dissuade.
Whether or not she succeeds at such, the spar blooms into a game of fire; they come away in a draw, bruised and battered, and she nurses a cut that stains her shoulder with the press of her tongue. You are not bad, the tangerine gaze is alight with adrenaline as her breath hitches in her throat. I am impressed.
With him, with herself.
Whether or not he follows, she would return to her intended task of the afternoon; a bath in the crystalline serpent.