Panther Park [m] The only time I'd ever call you mine

Don't mind me, I'm mildly obsessed with these two <3

The distant shriek of a mountain lion pierced through the icy stillness of the morning. Reverie rose from her makeshift bed, eyes dark, searching for @Hunst. She never slept far from him.

We should move on, She murmured to him, already beginning to pack their scant belongings. A few moments of silence stretched between them before she added, so soft it was almost lost in the sound of the breeze:

I want you to teach me more about fighting.

Only twice had she been part of any battle in Casco Bay, briefly each time; her value had always been as a healer, and so they'd kept her far from the fighting. But soon there would be no others to hide behind.

Hunst stirred slightly beneath the roots of the tree, his massive frame curled with his back to the gnarled bark. The mountain lion's cry had barely touched his ears before his senses returned, already sharpened to the dangers that lurked in the chill of morning.

He lifted his head at Reverie's murmur, glancing over with a flicker of acknowledgment. Even in her weariness, there was something steely in her eyes as she spoke. Packing their belongings was routine; he’d watched her do it countless times in silence, but her next words—a request cloaked in resolve—were new.

Hunst’s eyes narrowed, just barely. Her tone, earnest yet quiet, almost slipped past him as the cold wind stirred the air. Fight, she said. He’d seen the healer’s hands work wonders, but they were not yet suited for the grit and ruthlessness of battle. For a moment, he nearly dismissed it as the fragility of a moment, some idle notion cast into the morning air.

But her gaze stayed fixed. She was serious.

Okay, he replied simply, his voice low and even, as if it was a matter of fact.

Nothing more was needed. He turned away, letting the silence close around them again. If she truly wanted this, she’d show it in her steps, not her words. For now, though, he’d take her request for what it was—just another task, as fleeting or as fierce as she decided to make it.

Okay.

Reverie let her gaze linger on him a few seconds longer, a fleeting soft glance given not for the first time. He was beautiful in a way; so like the island he hailed from. Octopus Island had been a place always shrouded in mist, a place of long shadows and old magicks carved into the stone itself. To reach its shores had been a trial of its own, a long swim through cold, treacherous waters. Even led by two Sea-Snake warriors, Reverie had only barely survived.

The first time she'd stepped onto those pale sands, the Sea-Snakes had been in the midst of some ritual. Their song still haunted her dreams sometimes.

A long silence stretched between them before Reverie spoke again.

I think this is far enough, She stepped into a clearing as she spoke, setting down her packs. Then she turned to Hunst, her eyes sparkling playfully to hide her anxiety. I should warn you - I've only ever been in one proper fight. I did win, though. Shredded his butt.

Hunst observed her quietly, letting her voice settle in the silence that followed. Her playfulness was a small, bold flame against the uncertainties they both shouldered, a reminder of her resilience. Reverie had traveled through fierce waters and rituals to reach Octopus Island, where even the island's mysteries had barely let her survive. She’d become a part of its lore in that crossing—and perhaps, by extension, a part of his own.

But now they were here, far from the island, far from the Sea-Snake songs, and what lay ahead was a battlefield not woven with magic but marked by blood and resolve. He should've known she'd want to fight, and the weight of her decision stirred something in him—a deep respect and a twinge of regret he hadn't thought to ask before now.

With a slow nod, Hunst acknowledged her. His voice rumbled like the waves against the misted shores of Octopus Island, low and quiet.

Aye… Should’ve seen it myself. He gave her a small, almost wry nod. Ye've got grit, Reverie. More of his accent slipped through— perhaps she was cracking his shell.

He adjusted his stance, standing resolute, as if anchoring her decision within himself. Whatever lay ahead, he’d be her silent sentinel, letting her strength carve its own path—her right, her choice.

Hit me, then.

He had a strange way of speaking in certain moments, Reverie had noticed; more like his kin whose voices she'd rarely heard directed at herself, that roughhewn seaside accent unlike anything she'd heard before. Always it enchanted her — but it was such a rare, fleeting thing to hear. For a moment she blinked, caught off guard by his request, by him.

Hit me, he said, as if it was that simple. Maybe it was. Reverie lunged for him in the direct manner which would have been laughable as a true strategy for a wolf like her, unseasoned and disadvantaged in size. A feint — but her next move was unplanned, hinged entirely on the warrior's split-second response.

Step one: throw him off.

Step two: ???

Step three: profit.

Or something like that.

Hunst sidestepped with practiced ease, watching Reverie’s lunge pass as if carried by the wind itself. In one fluid motion, he slipped to her rear, pressing her off-balance with the weight of his shoulder until she hit the ground. Firmly, yet with surprising gentleness, he pinned her just enough to make his point.

You’re small, he murmured, voice low and matter-of-fact, a trace of that coastal accent winding through each syllable. His words were sparse, gruff—more like his kin on Octopus Island than he usually allowed. Ain’t no shame in it. But a wolf yer size… you need to strike me where I can’t reach ye.

He shifted slightly, giving her just enough leeway to move beneath him, testing her. Think quicker. Don’t fight me straight-on. He paused, casting her a quick, assessing look. Use yer own way. Slip past—like ye did gettin’ to our shores.

The Sea-Snake warrior eased up, watching to see if she’d find an opening, always a sentinel but urging her, pushing her to sharpen her instincts.

What she hadn't expected was just how fast Hunst could be; there was no time to come up with step two. Abruptly he was on her. Abruptly she was on the ground. Dead, just like that, if it'd been a true fight.

Small, he called her. Reverie's lips twitched with the ghost of a snarl. Even pinned she stayed bristling, tense, testing his grip on her with little jerks and tugs. Battle was a foreign beast but this — this was all too familiar a scene, her left helpless beneath the weight of another and all she could think was not again, not again,

and she snapped, teeth flashing for his jaw with force enough to leave stinging welts even as she tore herself from his grasp. Her elbows tore across the rocky ground, but Reverie hardly noticed. She rolled to her feet, reaching this time to rip one of his from beneath him. Not to hurt him, truly, but to bring him to the ground as he had done to her.

Training wasn't on her mind anymore.

Hunst staggered but held his ground, absorbing the impact as he watched her tear herself free, eyes glinting with that fury he recognized now as something else, something unsettled. He waited, letting her circle him, breathing hard yet poised, aware of the anger lacing her movements like a fuse.

He sidestepped her next attack, pivoting on his heel. And then, with a sudden surge, he closed the distance and hooked his weight beneath her, flipping her onto her back with practiced precision. In an instant, he loomed over her, close enough that his breath met hers in a heavy, braced rhythm.

A question flickered in his gaze, something unspoken. His voice came as a low rumble, steady and piercing as he looked down at her.

Do ye wanna hurt me?

For a beat, he held her there, waiting for the answer in the tension of her muscles, in the defiance etched on her face.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Idk what to call this but it feels rated R

Dead. Again. Helpless, again. This time the air was swept from her lungs, her shoulders ached where she knew bruises would form, and for a fierce hysterical moment she hoped to feel his teeth against her skin. Didn't she deserve this?

Hunst's voice cut through the haze; Reverie wondered distantly if she really had. If she could.

But she knew that she didn't want to hurt him.

No. Breathless, she tensed against his grip again. She couldn't. She couldn't do this, she — I want - I want you to hurt me.

Let me - let me up, please, Half-growled, half a sobbing plea, breaking into renewed struggles against what felt like a prison. She wanted him to let her go. She wanted him to hold her there. She wanted his teeth at her throat, her blood on his lips, gilded feathers and a song only remembered in dreams.

She didn't know what she wanted.

Hunst's gaze lingered, searching her face, his own breath coming hard, sharp in the quiet. From here, he could do it. She was still, open, pinned, her struggles weakening with each passing second under the weight of his hold. He could feel her rapid pulse, the tension trembling through her as though something inside her was breaking.

He dipped his head close to her ear, his voice a low rumble, roughened with a quiet intensity. Ye know, from here, I could end it. One move, he whispered, his breath brushing her fur, cold yet oddly gentle. But ye’re not helpless.

Slowly, he loosened his grip, showing her the angles, guiding her wrist where it could slip free. Shift yer shoulder. Pull this way. He moved with her, careful, steady, so she could feel it, understand where her power lay even from beneath him. Push up hard with yer back leg — throw me off balance.

He met her gaze, something raw flickering in his eyes as he studied her, seeing both her struggle and something fragile, like a bird with broken wings. Beautiful, he thought, though he barely understood why, or how the feeling lodged itself there, unsettling.

There ye go. Now do it, he murmured, inviting her to throw him, to rise from her own vulnerability, as if that would set her free.

From here, I could end it.

But Reverie knew that, didn't she? This was a lesson she'd learned well, the first of her youth in The Gilded Sea, taught over and over at Swiftcurrent Creek, at Saltshore, at Hearthwood. Men; always the blade at her throat, always seeking to change her, fix her, hurt her, own her.

From here, I could force you;

Lestan threatening to take Blossom from her,

From here, I could fix you;

Kel pinning her at the mouth of her den,

From here, I could kill you.

She drew in a breath and let Hunst guide her with his words, let him turn the blade and press the hilt into her own grasp. Reverie drew on the strength of a lifelong dancer, a wanderer, a wolf forged by the wilds; he was bigger than her, but she'd always been sturdy for her size.

Still, it surprised her a little when she threw him. Dizzied even as she found her footing again, Reverie stumbled away from Hunst as if he'd been lit to flame. She stood still bristling, wide-eyed, her thoughts a wild jumble, her steps light as if prepared to flee any moment.

Hunst steadied himself, the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto his otherwise steely expression. His gaze held hers, unwavering, as he took in the fire that had flared within her — that deep-seated strength that had always been there, buried, but rarely drawn out like this. Reverie’s breath was ragged, her body taut as though she still expected an attack, yet here she stood, unharmed, victorious even.

Felt good, didn’t it? he rumbled, voice low and rough, letting her linger in that realization a beat longer.

He stepped forward, unhurried but firm, his massive frame casting a long shadow across her. Again. Hit me again.

The command was gentle, almost coaxing, though his eyes bore into her with quiet intensity. He wanted her to know this power — her power. To let her strength settle into her bones, a new truth embedded beneath the scars of past battles and burdens. From here, she didn’t have to run. Not from him, and not from herself.

Had she hoped he would call an end to it? No, Reverie decided at once; Hunst would find her a diligent student, quiet and without complaint — at least until the lesson's end.

Then he would learn a lesson of his own: that Reverie could be an absolute diva in her suffering. She'd learned only from the best, of course, though no man who valued his life would ever compare her to @Morticia.

Still, for all her complaints and her quiet expectation that Hunst would oblige them, Reverie would approach him again the next day, and each that they spent together.