Stavanger Bay iriġauraq(-) [m]

Heat thread 2

She felt like she could fly as she ran across the white sand of the beach.

The wind caught across her cheeks and stung but in a good way, and as the tide rolled in Wilwarin raced against it.

The chill on her paws was thrilling - and sometimes she would kick out or splash in the roaring foam, and had she a voice her laughter would be a flood to match.

He was never the type to know what he wanted, really. Except for flowers and serving Akashingo, Haizel would be plentifully happy in the wild as a loner. But his heart lay in the red lands and here he was, so far out from it in search of winter blooms to cultivate for springtime. 

The deer-pelted man happily sniffed around, a few stray leaves he thought were a pretty shade of brown throughout the fur.

She looked like the white caps of the tide condensed to canine form. Striding, high-stepping, clicking her heels when the water swept so close that it touched her belly and made her shiver.

When she turned from the seafoam and headed up the beach, Wilwarin took in the sights sprawling before her: sand and shells, seaweed, and the leading edge of brittle bluestone steps which soon spread underfoot.

And there among the remnants of an arbutus, where grass grew tall despite the snow and weeds peppered the soil in close cropped clusters, a stranger.

Wilwarin drifted up and over, unphased, not thinking of danger or her condition, and danced around them! Wasn't the sea beautiful? Wasn't the snow magical? Her body arched as she danced and played around the stranger, dipping in to a sharp play-bow.

Luckily for the pretty stranger, Haizel was just about the least problematic wolf one could hope to encounter, or so he felt. He was harmless despite his size and instantly gave her a grin that had his tongue draped over his lower canines like fine silk over a throne.

His massive body arched downward into a returned bow, feathery tail wagging proudly and barking a customary greeting. Hi! I'm Haizel! Do you like flowers?!

But he had thus far not heard her speak. Didn't bother the fawn-man any.

The man accepted and returned the show of play, which enticed Wilwarin in to a game of lunges and dodges, of the softest nips to the man's cheeks or haunches as she veered and danced, encircling him.

All the while, the alluring scent of her heat rivaling the salted air that hung heavy across the bay. Wilwarin knew how womens magic worked and had always dreaded the moment it struck her; but now as she experienced this, she was full of joy and a rambunctious energy.

How long could the game last? She wanted to run and feel the world spin around her! She wanted to be chased, and hoped the man would oblige her.

The fluffy flower-wolf's tail continued to blur behind him. She smelled like fresh honeysuckle but he thought nothing of it, not really - he'd barely been around women at all in his time and knew little of their magics. All of the women he knew he held in higher station to himself, and thus would not bother them when they asked for silence. After all... he had flowers!

But this little one was full of energy! And was very friendly! Yay!

He took a step toward her, but then stepped past, another play-bow. A small jump to keep the position. Wanna run? The snow's so pretty and I think I saw a flower that'd match your fur so perfectly-

As soon as she knew she had his undivided attention, Wilwarin took off across the beach.

She had one ear turned to her playmate as she traveled, and should their alignment shift she would use a different ear, but always keep tabs.

Her tail waved like a banner behind her, while the sun caught across the soft ginger-gold of her shoulders. To be chased was a good game; but it was a deeper feeling that urged Wilwarin to lure the man on. One she had not name for.

She wanted more than just this simple chase - and so she lagged a bit, or turned to watch him, hoping he would catch up. Wanting to be caught! And she envisioned being held close, which startled and excited her.

this is so very cute I cannot handle it-

Powerful hind haunches propelled him from the position, racing along the beach to catch up with his new friend. Pink tongue tasting the wind as he chased the honeysuckle woman. 

She looked like winter snow but wolf, a white rose in a garden of cracked ground. It stirred something inside him, but despite the man's age, his experience was lacking. What was it? Why did he want to follow? 

Was this the will of Renenutet? Perhaps not, but She had yet to speak to him outside of dreams that continued to plague him, though lesser now. 

Haizel found himself pushing to go faster, to catch up. They were playing! It had been so long since he'd met a wolf who wanted to play instead of work!

When he came close to catching her, she would whisk away and kick up snow, or splash through the sea as the tide swept up to the pair.

Wilwarin had not been around others for some time. Those she had last visited were far more serious, not nearly as tactile as herself. It felt good to finally run free! To have someone else who was unafraid to experience - whatever this was.

When next the man came close, Wilwarin pivoted and pranced alongside him. She moved as if to play with the fur of his cheek and kissed him instead, and laughed her soundless laugh, as she ran again.

Their game was almost at its end now. Her legs were tired! Her breath plumed from her, and so she slowed and became like a fawn, bowing her head and then tossing it up and back as if to holler at the sky! She wished she could be loud and silly, but silence followed Wilwarin and always would.

She turned to watch the man, her eyes bright and expression warm. If he were to draw close now she would not run; she wanted to be close, to be held, to be loved.

He was a lover, not a fighter. There were others for that, others that would happily protect him and the palace. His gardens - oh! She'd led him right to the flowerbed he'd wanted to show her!

And so he turned, just for one second, to snap the stem of the small bloom still clinging to life on the oceanfront before he drew nearer the pale woman. 

A huff of his breath, the gentle and deliberate tangling of its stem within the fur behind her ear, and, he dared a small lick to ensure it stayed. After all, she did kiss him first. See? I told you it'd look pretty in your fur!

But he did not step back to admire her properly, instead sitting next to her. She was so small - wasn't she cold? He lifted a paw in ask for her to come closer.

So he could use his fur to keep her warm!

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The flowers spread out beneath them. He gathered one and decorated her fur with it, and the kiss sent a summertime warmth through Wilwarin that only made her more certain about what she wanted. When he beckoned she draw close, that was the end of their game - or the evolution of it. He was a giant but she was unafraid; the man had been playful and gentle until this moment, and even as he fumbled to hold her, Wilwarin was only ever excited and willing.

[...]

In the aftermath, with her scent swirling between them and the flowers cushioning their bodies, Wilwarin did not want to move. Her skin hummed with a new kind of energy. It was only after, in the melting of her legs and the dissolving of her last boundaries, that she noticed the aromatics of his coat.

He was not a man of the sea, or the mountains. He smelled of sand but not the bay. There was something warm about him that Wilwarin found deeply comforting.

She sighed, nested there in his arms.

He held her as gently as a fawn in spring, nestled between two large arms and resting his head beside her. She should be warm now, right? She certainly looked content; Haizel was nothing if not a wolf covered in fur that felt the mesa's heat in summer. It was much warmer there than here.

Yet still, that tail wagged softly into the flowerbed. He was happy.

Haizel. My name is Haizel. Another quick lick to the top of her head, and to fix the flower that had already threatened to fall off. 

How did he even talk to her now?

The silence she held was a constant and she did not fear it; but when he spoke, when he broke through that to tell his name, she could only smile. First with her eyes closed as he adjusted the flower, and then with her eyes fluttering open.

There was fondness here for him. This stranger man from a warm place, this Haizel. She wished she could say something to him - but that would not be her way.

Wilwarin could not, and so she only reached out and kissed the end of his nose.

She kissed his cheeks. As his eyes closed she kissed them too, sliding from his grasp as if she were about to continue with these affections.

Once his eyes opened again, she would have danced away across the snow as it fell, and with her path obscured, was gone.