Starglow Basin Hawk of may

Both eyes and ire have been drawn by @Saya. The sun has already begun to wane when the leadened steps seek her, ducking to stand uninvited in the narrowness of her den. The air is stale and his shoulders are broad here.

“How are your injuries?” The ocelote asks brusquely. Red eyes look down intently upon the golden siren and the wounds which now mar her legs.

osiel's broad presence fills the den, his voice heavy and his eyes relentless as they rest on her. saya does not falter beneath his scrutiny, though the pain simmers beneath her skin like the heat of the desert.

estoy bien, she says firmly, though the scent of thyme cannot mask the tang of blood.

her voice is low, deliberate, like the grinding of stone. she shifts slightly, straightening her posture despite the ache, a subtle defiance in her lean frame.

they are just wounds, she adds, her crimson gaze locking onto his with unwavering resolve.

nothing that will stop me.

there is no softness here, no invitation for pity. only the sharp edge of pride, a blade she wields as fiercely as her body bears the marks of survival.

He surges forward, invading the tight space with the long hull of muscled body.

“Stop from what, Saya? You come to my desert to… serve Segundo? Draw blood? Torture?” His question was it’s own test. Only one was tolerated less than a rebel without a cause, and that was a liar. The intense slant of Osiel’s bloodied stare warned as much.

And still under scrutiny the lavender eyes intrigued, like two glimmering jewels embedded in sand. His gaze slid to the marks on her thighs.

saya drew back ever so slightly, wincing at the mention of soto. her lavender eyes narrowed, not in defiance but in a sharp, pained expression that lingered like a thorn beneath her skin. the mention of him always felt like a blade slicing through her resolve, but she swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat.

i will do what you wish. she said, her voice steady but not without fervor. i believe in your strength, osiel. if i don't have that, then what is there?

her words were not an empty plea but a declaration. she lifted her chin slightly, meeting his bloodied gaze despite the tension that rippled in the air. i need to believe. if none of us do, we're already dead before we even start.

she exhaled, grounding herself beneath the weight of his scrutiny. if that means serving soto, i will do it. if it means drawing blood, i will do it. in the end, it's verapaz prevailing. that is what i wish. that is what i want to see.

her thighs burned beneath his gaze, the marks etched there a constant reminder of the costs of loyalty and survival. she bore them without shame, though her jaw tightened, a flicker of pain passing through her expression before she masked it. she would endure whatever was asked of her. for them, for their cause, for herself.

“Selfless as a saint,” he jeers, revealing a mouthful of spears. He bent himself in, testing breaths and taking long slow sweeps up the legs into her feminine face.

“Rest. Heal. When better, you serve Soto. In any way asked. In winter, you carry his cubs. Bring life to Verapaz. That is how you serve me.” He with drew, granting her space, but did not yet leave.

saya kept her face a mask, though the words struck her with a force she hadn’t anticipated. cubs. the very idea made her stomach twist, a storm brewing beneath her composed exterior. yet, she would not let it show. not to him. not to anyone.

her lavender eyes followed his every movement, unflinching even as he drew close, his presence looming, suffocating. she let the silence stretch, counting her breaths to steady herself as he finally withdrew.

you wouldn't want cubs from me? she asked, her voice steady, smooth like silk despite the turmoil beneath. the question came boldly, but she had to know. had she been ruined? entirely, blazen, stricken with ugliness that the patron saw her as a feat of heralding ogress?

let him laugh at her. the words had already slipped from her lips before she could control them.

it was a pathetic question. she knew this. but that was all she had, wasn't it? the beauty, the concept; there was nothing beneath her angelic shell except a tortured, bloodied princess. woe is me, her mind echoed, but she hushed it away.

A woman spread before him, offering herself.

Perhaps it is unfair then that thoughts so swiftly went to Solana, and the lack of love that defined their three year marriage. Still, it was the sayulian doncella that had carried his cubs. The woman that had earned more than fleeting looks and carnal affairs. But she was a hundred miles away, and here Saya is so close he can draw her own breaths into his lungs.

“Didn’t say that,” the ocelote grunts, but does not illuminate other than the heady swell of eyes over delicate skin that spoke in volumes of want.

“Say you serve the leopardo. Do not disappoint him.”

saya kept her gaze low, her expression veiled, but his words settled heavily in her chest. the affirmation, though gruff and unapologetic, was enough. she nodded, acknowledging the weight of his expectations.

i will serve leopardo, she said softly, her voice steady but carrying a quiet edge of resolve. failure was not an option. it never was. until you say otherwise. the words were a vow, her determination crystallizing as they fell from her lips.

her head tilted slightly, her lavender eyes lifting just enough to meet his gaze. is there anything else you require of me? she asked, her tone even, her posture unyielding, watching as his eyes dripped beneath the brine of her body; a yearning, wanting, that she'd not encroach on her own whims.

She does as told. He respects her for it.

“Nada,” Patrón concludes. A raking glance then he slips from the darkness of the den into searing desert day. For now, some problems fade into the background. Saya could be a comfort for Soto.

And if not, a distraction.