Raven's Watch tìvilar

the climb had been relentless, the wind biting and the summit cruel beneath their paws. faust didn’t look back, though the sharp scent of blood from @Ayovi’s cracked pads lingered in the air, irritating him more than he cared to admit.

the dense tree line offered respite, its shadows folding around a small cluster of boulders. he slowed, green eyes sweeping the terrain before stepping toward the largest rock. without a word, he began digging. claws scraped against hardened earth and small stones, methodical and unyielding.

when he finished, faust stepped back, his gaze cutting to her briefly before flicking away. he huffed, a guttural sound of dismissal, and sat near the edge of the clearing. his posture was rigid, eyes trained on the horizon, guarding silently while she settled. the wind whispered through the trees, but he remained still, a silent, brooding sentinel.

To each other, both were no more than a means to an end. In this way of thinking Ayovi found Faust scarcely tolerable. Her pride need only suffer temporary diminishment, no permanent loss of place. He kept her fed and sheltered all for a denouement she had no intention of granting. She remembered watching the wives of her tribe on the cusp of heat, how they would tease their men and always send Ayovi and the other pups to pick the blue berries from the chaste trees. The women seemed to know the advent of their time, and so the dove too would heed these signs in herself and put a hundred miles between herself and the beast before he knew what was happening.
She had these thoughts to pull focus from the agony and blood of feet which had gone numb ten miles back. At last Faust decides they’d put in an adequate day’s progress and as he digs she watches the last of light suffuse the eastern sky, where a new home awaited her.
When the green hemlock eyes seek her's, it is met with an ivory curl lip and she trudges for the makeshift den, squatting first to saturate the entrance with her mark before pushing into the hollow— a move that in itself was a wordless challenge to the towering sentinel.
But once inside she collapses with a moan and cradles her paws to chest, doing what she can to soothe each with warm licks of tongue and cringing from the sting.

he left the minute she had settled. a fast, wordless exit to find something for her. 

faust returned, the snow hare hanging limp from his jaws, its weight negligible against the bulk of his stride. the cold nipped at his coarse fur, but his green eyes were sharp, scanning the barren horizon for any sign of disturbance. his every movement exuded irritation, a low growl simmering in his chest as he thought of the stubborn woman curled in the den behind him.

he approached the den’s entrance without ceremony, stopping just short to toss the hare inside. it landed with a soft thud near ayovi’s resting form, its scent already spreading in the confined space. her challenge earlier still lingered in his mind, her raised lip, the audacity of her marking the entrance of his work. but she was in pain, her bloodied feet a testament to her resilience—perhaps even her foolishness.

faust settled himself just outside the den, his bulk a shadow against the snowy backdrop. his breath formed plumes in the cold air as he exhaled a low grumble, a sound neither inviting nor hostile. protection came naturally, even begrudgingly, to him. his gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, sharp and unyielding, though his ears twitched to catch any sound from within the den.

a happy wife is a fat one. the phrase echoed dryly in his mind. faust let his jaws part in a humorless huff. she wasn’t his wife, but the sentiment remained. without looking back, he rumbled just loud enough for her to hear, a wordless acknowledgment of her presence, her pain, and the hare he had thrown in to ease both.

“What are you expecting? For me to swoon?”
It’s the only answer she’ll deign before rolling to snatch with fierce paws the hare, revolving it under cheek to feel the velvety fur. The sharp lined mouth gnashes into soft flesh, tenderizing. She can smell his oils there; the balsam of wood and sweat, crushed against ankles and lips. 
There was fear in incurring his wrath, but a greater fear in shunning the part of her that would always be Ashēer. Those images of home she could no longer return to curl cruelly in mind. She shifts up, looking out into the port of bridal woods warded by Faust. The last of the winter sun sets red as she turns over her foot, pressing the sharpness into her lips again.

wouldn't be the worst, faust rumbled, his voice low, carrying a faint edge of amusement as his green eyes followed her movements. she was bold, a fire beneath the frost, and he couldn’t decide if he admired it or found it foolish. perhaps both.

he shifted his weight slightly, claws pressing into the frozen earth as he tilted his head to observe her. she worked over the hare with purpose, her actions raw and deliberate, but there was something else—something deeper. her gaze drifted far, as if caught in a memory that didn’t belong here.

where do you come from, iskava? he asked after a moment, his voice steady, though quieter now, more curious than pressing. he didn’t expect her to answer fully, not yet, but the question hung between them like smoke, drifting into the red light of the setting sun.

His leonine eyes seize her, that cadence holding amusement like this is his game of chase. The fierce indigo matches glares before turning to present only her back, burring out the silver tail and shaking crystalline glaze from her moon sheathing.
It is Ashēer she thinks of; her family’s laughter on the rosegold westlands. Hills wind-tossed and forests enswathed in evergreen beneath arches of rich blue sky. White mountain streams where the kootsin cross with their calves and ascend the staircase to stars.
East. It is now her only prospect. A hope that her heart could be mantled there. Ayovi pins her ears, refusing grief it's console. She listens for Faust’s question and flicks her tail.
“A place where men are exceptional, and women have standards,” she follows with more confidence than she truly felt. In the distance set between them she flaunts this blatant disregard where his teeth cannot so easily command. The huntress in her dares him to advance while the girl begs for rest.
“Perhaps you should tempt fate elsewhere, lone wolf,” Ayovi exhales, shifting her hips cooly into a lay.

his smirk deepened as he watched her, eyes gleaming with amusement at her defiance. there was something about her—her sharp tongue, the way she carried herself with pride and fire—that reminded him of stories he had heard in distant lands. he didn’t need to say it outright; the glint in his gaze said enough.

am i not exceptional, enough? he drawled, letting the words settle between them. because she clearly had standards. his tone carried the faintest hint of a challenge, a prod to see how far she’d push back. her cool demeanor didn’t escape him, nor did the flick of her tail, which only seemed to invite his attention further.

faust let his gaze sweep over her once more before he moved closer, though not enough to press her limits. the distance he left was deliberate, giving her just enough room to keep pretending she wasn’t daring him to close it entirely.

i’m rather stubborn, he added after a beat, his smirk turning almost wolfish. his eyes held her for a long moment before he shifted his weight, as though debating whether to press his advantage—or let her stew in her own challenge.

She does not see Faust’s movements, instead feeling them in the voice that ducks through the warren. Eyes find the powder at her feet, resisting an urge to fling snow into the smirk she knew was waiting.
Of course he was a wonder. She’d never seen so tall and wide a man as him. The contrast in their steps was confounding. But Ayovi had not looked upon him longer than a breath; did not see into his face or behold his character beyond the strength that confined her.
Even now, it intimidated. She knew she was testing fire in a way that would have found her damned by her Ashēer’s band chief. Despite the alarms that trigger in her head about what she knows of him— everything painting Faust as a man whose temper should be placated— she loathed the idea of being reduced to a mewling woman for this man. She was not his wife. He was owed none of her submission.
“And for what?” Ayovi retorts hotly, ears pinning again, “you’ll be sorely disappointed at the end of this foray, wolf, when you’re a hundred miles from home with empty arms.” If her body shakes from the nerve, she tries to hide it in the clench of jaws; the shuttering eyes.
This was not a clash of ego— it was a challenge for supremacy.

if you wish to hurt me, then do it. hit me, faust murmured, his voice low and steady, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed nothing of anger, only a cool amusement that deepened the air between them.

her fire burned brightly, and he found himself drawn to it, like the pull of the tide to the moon. her spirit did not waver, even as her voice cut like frost against his ears. this—this was what made him hunger, a force unyielding, unwilling to break even when faced with him.

he tilted his head slightly, his green gaze steady, piercing through her defiance with the sharpness of steel. i won’t be alone, he said simply, the words rolling off his tongue like a promise. this much, i know.

her words were meant to sting, and perhaps they did, in some far-off corner of his being, but he wouldn’t let her see that. she was strong—stronger than most he had encountered—and that strength only fueled the quiet storm inside him. the challenge in her stance, in her voice, called to something primal.

you won’t scare me away with that fire, ayovi, he added after a pause, his voice softening just slightly, like embers glowing beneath the ash. he stepped closer, his movements deliberate, though he left the space between them intact, as though daring her to bridge it or widen it. her decision, not his. the choice to hurt him, to lash out, was hers alone.

but if you think i’ll walk away empty, you’ve misunderstood me. his words carried weight, though his tone remained maddeningly calm, unbothered by the storm she sought to raise. her strength would not drive him back—it only drew him closer.

A moment passes, she feels his nearness at her back, the whole of him flooding the hollow. Revulsion stirs her claws, how satisfying it would be to tear into the face, if her strength was returned. If she could outrun him.  She gives no answer but the coil of her tail and the fierce tack of ear. Let him speak, let him exhaust himself and surrender to find the embrace of a receiving woman!
But it’s Faust’s last which delivers her quivering with indignance as much as fear, spinning to face the heaviness of him with the blue flame of her eyes. 
“We have an agreement— you're to leave once I’ve been accepted into my pack,” the feminal voice disputes. She swallows and pushes herself against the far wall, tail caught in opposition as his vastness fills the warren's entry like a pitch-black planet.

he did not move closer, did not press her against the frayed edge she teetered upon. the coil of her tail, the tilt of her ears—he saw it all, understood it all. her defiance, her trembling indignance—it only fed the steady burn of his intrigue.

what if they are not there? his voice cut through the hollow like a slow, deliberate knife, calm but weighted, a question that lingered as heavy as the winter air.

then, what?

The smell of earth and sweat is distracting now, impossible to ignore. Her heart tightens for a third reason, defiant against the wills of a rational mind.
Ayovi had not truly considered what should happen when no pack awaited her. She refused it’s contemplation.
She would be chosen by the kootsin clan. A high-ranked hunter, decorated among his people, would see her finesse and find himself smitten with a want for indigo-eyed children. He would take her to wife and they would run the mountains together.
“Why? You could have any woman,” her teeth clamp. Was he so desperate to seed her? There were women with experience in motherhood; taller, stronger, gentler— eager for their bellies to swell with his pups. Who would not fight him.
Her eyes trail north, persisting on the hawkish face now. The scar along his cheek seems wider.

the little dove he had claimed as his own had never considered such a possibility. he could see it there, across her face, the pure stricken fear she had of ending up with him. it...actually soured him. the brooding, Wide Fang, found himself narrowing his brows.

in another world, one so distant and untamed, he, too, would have ended up recluse in paradise. with a previous wife—toshalla— at his side, but instead of forging a legacy with him, she chose to forge the monster that writhed in his chest.

faust could only offer her one answer. one stretch of words that had him changing his disposition, taking one foot outside of the den and pivoting to look back at her terrified, snow-kissed form.

i don't know.

because he didn't. maybe she reminded him of what he could not have, always chasing, being the prodigal son of icarus. faust had a habit of wanting things that were, simply, too close to the sun.

I don’t know!
She would have laughed if she could find any humor in her condition. Instead, there is only residual fear building quickly to gunfire.
“You don’t know yourself,” Ayovi hikes her chin, wresting the threads of control from his slackening fangs. For the first time his face glazes with something more vulnerable— confusion. She stands as a kootsin warrior and pushes for the entrance.
“I see now. You believe mating me will give you an identity. I pity you, Faust. Step aside,” the gentle voice is now rich with command.

but he didn't step aside. not with that quivering attitude— she had thought she found a weakness within him? an uncertainty? whilst he held no sureness of her position toward him, he was still a man. a bad fucking man.

and you do, lost girl? he bit back, covering the entrance of the den so she couldn't make her grand escape. he was still...still a toilsome, bergruding man. at his core he knew he'd take her to wife, whether will or no.

get over yourself, clashing heads, driven by pure force. i don't need a reason to fuck you.

Pretenses.
The huntress believed she’d seen Faust for his true part now.
For all their words, she was genuinely beginning to enjoy the game that won her back the dignity defaced first by Wide Fang and second by the man from the mountains.
But he moved to impede her, his body a rough blockade, the emerald eyes taking on a darker glint. The same, she realized, on the day his jaws unveiled their strength. Ayovi's chin lingers high, the sulfur fires blazing bright.
“You wouldn’t,” her hackles shiver with a wild defiance that reaches deep into her.

his chagrin couldn't be tamed. not by a single soul. not even star mother, who looked down upon him as if he had been a demi god. this back and forth that she played into so well had only continue to make a rise out of his bones.

and now he had her where he wanted. though she still challenged him! the gall of this woman with her sapphire eyes, so sharp and full of respite. he wanted to cut them from her skull.

i would. i will. a laugh. a man does not do things for free. he would have her, one way or another, and he knew that she knew this. the time would come when she'd be desperate, clawing at his furs for him. but he would wait. wait to strike, like the cunning peregrine he'd always been.

today was not that day. no matter how hot his groin ran, now matter how taut his jaw had become at her insolence that somehow lit fires in its wake.

get some rest. we move in the morning.

How terribly she wanted to see him incensed— humbled by the terse words of the woman he’d thought to own. The huntress had never before felt such nerves. Her tongue loosened crimes, every word contraband. She thought of her band chief and had the decency to flush.
Yet still, he laughed. Still he scorned, disallowing the satisfaction of his shame. Growing the head of his pride.
Ayovi says nothing else. She lays, paws curling into chest, watching his shadow on the wall of the hollow. Waiting for him to go.

had her cheeks turned a rosen pink? faust blinked, checking to make sure that he didn't have a cracked skull. if so, it would make sense. but if not...

he was fine. injuries assessed, fur taut and ruffled, he knew something was amidst. was getting beneath iskava's skin? a part of him hoped so, the churning, tempestuous part of him only hoped further.

a snort and grumble, shaking off these desecrating feelings, and watched as she settled. she looked small against the crook of the framed den, a shimmering diamond against the mud walls.

he took his leave, barring the entrance with his thick form, and settled outside. head on his paws, he looked up to the night sky, counting the stars.

end here?

She was not raised to hold her own against hunters. She was intended to dote on men like Faust.
But home was gone. Ashēer had lost their name to men who took.
She settles her head into the small of her back, lulling herself into calm with forcibly steadied breaths.
The huntress was listening. She was waiting.