Fairspell Meadow I

He'd followed her, at a distance.

From the hinterlands, into the mountains, and down toward the desert. Now, back into a more fertile place, and her scent ended at the base of a sandstone mesa.

He kept well clear of the borders.

Instead, Vasya prowled nearby, wondering if and when anyone would come to greet him. He thought of howling for the pale woman, but decided against it. He wanted her to discover him by accident.

If fate decided to bring the two together—light and shadow, star and sky—it would.

It didn't mean he had to be happy about the wait.

Whoever came across the dark man would find him snapping at butterflies and dragonflies, teeth bared, careening haphazardly through the tall grasses with tail lashing angrily in his wake.

being vague about the outcome of this buuuut i wanted this to keep her going and meet him!!

she watched the man cautiously. the view might have been beautiful if he did not seem so disgruntled by the beauty...

ever proper, she held a small smile on her face. one that dared to border timid, in case her own presence might invite those snapping teeth. it was worth the risk — she could never stand to be alone very long.

are you hunting the flying things?

It wasn't his white witch who spoke. A woman of many gray tones stared him down now, and while he could note her beauty, his hunger for Medusa was all-encompassing.

I hunt my lady, he answered, swiping his tongue across his jowls. I look for the white woman. Do you know her?

He abandoned his chase and stood upright, lifting his chiseled jaw high as he could while he looked her over.

his lady. perhaps she was too smitten by romantics and the stories around them, but she felt charmed at once. nearly enough to forget his anger chomping at dragonflies moments before. instead she saw him with rose colored glasses now.

do you have a name? or has she only come to you nameless under moonlight?

her voice carried the light of her whimsy and fascination with him now. she had, of course, made details up to add to the romantic theme of it all.

She is moonlight, Vasya replied, his tone almost affronted that anyone could see her otherwise. But, yes, he had gotten a name. Medusa, the white witch. She lives nearby; I know it.

But there was something in this young woman's voice that caught his attention. His pale eyes looked her over, tongue running over his canines beneath his lips in contemplation of what she could offer.

Drawn as he was to the witch, he was still just a man.

she was awestruck and wished deeply to have someone speak of her like this one day. none of these things were hidden from view. her purple eyes were an expressive look into her thoughts.

i will happily help you find her. reuniting must be…magical. she did not let her own wants in life get in the way of another’s happiness. even if she longed in a way that kept her awake most nights.

this was not her moment, she turned her head and looked out into the open area. as if this magical woman might manifest before them.

As she spoke, her soft voice curled 'round him like an embrace. He came closer, slowly, and stood near enough that she could fall into his embrace if desired.

Love is magic, he murmured. Making love even more so. What's your name, миледи?

Vasya was bored without the witch, and needed a diversion. This sylph was the perfect opportunity.

when she looked back to him, he was close upon her. not unwelcome by any means. she found him still very romantic, even if others might see a casanova. she was always blinded by those who wanted her. no matter the fact that he had just been on the hunt for another woman. red flags would always be roses in her eyes.

loveday. she whispered in reply and found she had leaned back into him. enamored by such a strong man who spoke such beautiful words. but i rather like what you called me. even if she had not a single clue what had been said.

Your name is love, he murmured, grinning. Very fitting. He curled his body 'round her, teeth preening at the fur between her shoulder blades.

You are divine, Vasya purred, resisting the urge to seize the nape of her neck and climb atop her. 

But the instinct was just a heartbeat away. 

I can forget about witch, he murmured, with love at my side. 

Her scent was intoxicating, and Vasiliy realized he was no more a one-woman wolf than anyone who'd tried and failed to claim that title. 

He wanted her. And he knew he had her.

oh. she was held and warm. sweet words like summer honey spilled over the back of her ears.

i did not mean to steal you away... she confessed softly as she leaned her head back further, pressed against the strength of his throat. yet she made no move to send him off, to shoo him away from her and back to his moonlight witch.

the guilt might blossom in the wake of her admiration for him, but he was stronger for now. greater and more intoxicating than anything else good or bad.

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Oh, do not apologize, дорогой, Vasya purred, beginning to feel his bones dissolve against the lithe form of the woman at his side. I take company whenever it comes.

He preened the fur at the base of her earlobe, breathing quietly, steadily.

I think I can help you, he murmured, as you can help me. верно?

His resolve—among other aspects—was growing quite firm. This diversion would not prevent him from finding the white witch.

On the contrary—perhaps she'd be more malleable in the wake of their desire.

I take company whenever it comes.

in that moment, she should have seen all of this for what it was. yet she only found it as a way to soothe whatever guilt might rise its head. if it wasn't serious then it was okay, right? no one had to know about them, about her...

maybe terrible to resign herself to being someone's secret, but in this moment it felt exhilarating and exciting. of course, a little nod and a waving of her tail.

feel free to timeskip however long!

His body limp, he slid slowly from her luscious loins and rubbed his muzzle against her flanks, then her ribs, then her cheek.

You feel divine, Vasya murmured. And perhaps the white witch will bring us into her fold. Do you know Medusa, Love?

Women were all so different. The witch was wild, detached, mysterious. This woman warm, sumptuous, inviting. Both of them were just as much a draw. 

It only served to illustrate how he thought of them—she-wolves were like fruit, numerous and distinct. But would anyone choose to limit themselves to just one, or even two?

It was an utter folly to do so.