Dawnlark Plains [m] But you walked by like you never heard

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@Dagur if you can? <3

Earp had always been a follower. A reluctant one, true, but all the same he'd stumbled after the woman he would never call mother. Carried her things. Did her bidding. And for what?

Dirtwater Fox, then, was a wanderer. A soul bound by no strings, a feral-fanged ghost of the woods fading in and out of the undergrowth. By night he hunted. By day he slept and idled past the scents of other wolves. He followed none of them.

always! <3

When he stepped beyond the Dragonspine, he skirted along the Rise's claim as well. Mindful and respectful of their markers as he plunged into the plains. He had half a mind to go back to the glacier. Last time he had been there he had returned with a recruit.

Not that he wanted Goldeneye to think he was trying to replace him so soon!

His stomach turned uncomfortably at the thought. It was a welcomed relief to find distraction in the form of a stranger. Dagur only offered a low whuff from some distance away. Curious and testing how his presence might be welcomed — or unwelcomed.

Small gods small gods small gods —

he was no follower —

but what are we if not our devotions?

What are we if not those moments on our knees begging, those moments on our knees crawling, hands in the dirt searching small gods small lives small lives

for something to last forever.

This moment could last forever. This: the meeting of eyes across summergreen plains, the ancient oak and the rolling mists, the sentinel and the wraith. A lift of slender muzzle was his only greeting; he whirled, gilded shoulders twisting to keep the deep blue of his eyes trained on the man as he stepped into the beginnings of a dance.

Small gods —

would never catch him now.

He watched.

Uncertain but enchanted in a way. Dagur had never been a dancer, not like a sylph. When he had danced it was like a wielded knife that sought blood — prey or predator.

He moved now with a fluidness like a circling hawk. The distance he kept was respectful but he moved around the dancing figure in a wide circle. He watched each step with an eagerness to see what came next.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Sexual and violent thoughts. I'm so sorry

Ever closer his dance took him, spinning to follow the circle cut by the spellbound sentinel, whittling away the distance until he came close enough to taste the blood on his breath; to feel the barest hint of warmth radiating from his vale-woven furs. For a moment he wondered what those arms might feel like wrapped 'round his waist. For a moment he wondered if they would be better wrapped 'round his throat.

I could teach you to beg.

I could teach you to pray.

Have you ever seen a god? A whisper fallen into the wind, and Dirtwater Fox lingered as close as he was allowed.

If his gut had churned uncomfortably before this moment, it returned with a roar now. His heart beat violently in his throat enough that he thought it might break free if he opened his mouth.

Only it did not come out when he spoke.

Only one guttural word of simple answering.

No.

Did he want to? The feral look in his eyes said maybe, but he was the type who might try to devour any god given to him.

Oops sorry to make this short but I could not resist this narratively. Always down for a follow up ofc <333

Dirtwater Fox smiled at that. A slow sort of smile, praise and threat and fondness all at once. I like you.

You won't like me.

They're everywhere, He murmured as if sharing the first secret words of the world. You just have to look closer than that. A brush of his nose along the hard line of his jaw, and Dirtwater Fox spun away. He did not look back.

He would see him again soon.

He had bit his cheek and not realized it.

The dancer was gone and Dagur opened his mouth only to cough, to sputter blood into the air. Iron was the taste he was left with.

For how fantasy ridden the encounter seemed, he was left with a piece of reality for it in his mouth. In his gut. While he would not run in a frenzy to find the stranger he knew he could not immediately go home now.

He would roam and — if it was meant to be, so be it.

<333