Stavanger Bay Well it's too late

ooc: set near Donnelaith's Northern borders. Part of Lovegame 2.0 plot (if you intend to join, please, read about it [/url][url=http://wolf-rpg.com/showthread.php?tid=13651]here first)

Beautiful, desirable, invincible, daring... reckless. It was funny now that Osprey had feared the spring madness, cause it had given her strength that she had lacked for monthts. Her old, cautious and tired self chained to the stake and burnt, her new-self reborn from the ashes. Rising strong and fearless, Ignoring the pain in her shoulder joint she had given into the urge of running, seeking the feeling of freedom. Around the area they had had to leave because of the pirate attacks her pace slowed down, her thinking about the possible danger that lied ahead,whether to resist the temptation to break the rules. 

For a moment it appeared that she would give into fear and turn around, but she did not. After leaving a mark at a nearby tree, she charged onwards. How long had it been, since she had seen the ocean, walked along the beach? What did people, who led them really knew about accepting a challenge, walking a dangerous path and getting the adrenaline rush? Nothing. As if she had to prove her point more, she quickened her step and did not stop, until she had reached the edge of the tree-line. And there she stood, victoriously regarding the landscape. She had done it, conquered the fears, proved others wrong.

*snags for Kja* ;-)

He was not sure what initially drew him from the shores of Saltwinter and back to Stavanger Bay. After he'd discovered Ragnar's empty grave he knew he had no real reason for ghosting the territory that had seen his birth. There was no reason to return to it for he knew that Ragnar's bones were not going to magically be returned to the grave they had been excavated from; and in truth it mattered little. The Jarl was feasting in the halls of Valhalla, he did not care what had become of his corporeal body. Regardless, Kjalarr found himself wandering, perhaps in the hopes of catching those who were responsible. Leaving his grace upturned was reckless, arrogant and though it meant nothing to Ragnar, he felt the sting of insult in his father's place. The grave was as empty as the day he'd discovered it and just as the young Berserker was about to head back to Saltwinter, discerning that today would not be the day he would discover clues as to who was responsible that he caught a strange scent on a nearby tree.

His steps halted suddenly, as if there were an invisible chain that yanked him back, kept him from going further. His head lowered to the ground, black leathery nostrils flaring as he sniffed eagerly at the scent. He should have been irate that someone had left a urine mark on one of the Bay's numerous and ancient ash trees and yet when the fur at the nape of his neck bristled it was not with hostility. The scent was not unpleasant albeit unlike anything he'd ever smelled before but it was distinctly wolf and female — through the intoxication he could discern that from the perfume. Without conscious thought Kjalarr's course altered and he moved at a stalking pace, a puppet to his instincts which urged and encouraged him to seek out the delectable scent's origin. 

He found her soon enough, silver as moonlight against the monochrome back drop. He sniffed at the air to confirm that he'd found the perfume's source and without any words approached her, a low rumble announcing his presence. It was a primal noise, an appreciating sound devoid of any hostility. No, he did not seek to chase her from him; instead he deigned to be close to her. A stranger. He did not understand it, as new as this archaic and feral instinct was to him but he did not resist it, and understood a simple truth that it didn't require him to think. 

He ghosted closer to her, his icy, silver tipped caribbean blue irises nearly swallowed whole by the abyss of his pupils, high off of the scent her divine body was giving off; as if Freyja the queen of valkyries had descended from Asgard and had taken the form of this woman before him.

The wind was blowing and ruffling Osprey's fur, while she stood on the edge of the forest with her muzzle lifted up and sniffing the salty air. The scent of sea-weeds, water and wet sand was strong and only occasionaly would she catch a different smell and be able to read the message that came along with it. She then proceeded walking almost soundlessly accross the sand and approaching the water, stopping only, when the waves were touching her toes. 

There were faint memories of meeting people here - encounters both fruitful and ending in friendships and scary - ones she did not wish to relive ever again. So it was no wonder that she took notice of the stranger nearby the second it appeared and made his way towards her. Osprey tensed, while her mind tried to decide, whether this wolf was going to be a friend or foe - then he came closer and something about his expression did not speak of danger. Rather... an enchantment. 

Every woman is a bit of a witch inside and she unleashed that nature, as she sat down and regarded the young male with a mischievous look, as if asking - what now, when you have come this far?

Slight pp! Let me know if you'd like me to change it and I gladly will; also feel free to pp Kja as needed. <3

He drew in a deep breath, of salty sea brine, the tease of spring in the air but stronger than any of those things Kjalarr smelled her. It was not anything he could describe, a saccharine perfume than any he'd ever smelled from a woman before; and as it was he'd been around plenty of women, simply never one in heat before. He assumed that was what it was, and why he was reacting to it. Why reckless abandon was so willfully embraced, why he'd followed her scent to the Bay itself. His body would know what to do even if no one had ever had the “birds and bees” talk with him; instincts would take care of it for him; and that was the basis for this...for all of it: instinct. Raw and unbidden. He might not be able to bear children yet but he was coming into it and this was far from unexpected. 

Freyja, for surely that was who she was, had settled upon her haunches in the sand, offering him a wicked look that elicited another low rumble from the young jarl Loðbrok throat where it resounded. It was a warm sound, but it was also a hungry sound; not one he was accustomed to making, though he was in no fit state to stop and question what he was doing. A low warmth had began to spread to his loins, a smoldering fire that he felt at the apex of his thighs; unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was an aching feeling, encouraged by the scent that seemed to radiate off of her body in droves.

Like his father before him, Kjalarr was not afraid to take what he wanted; and currently he had never wanted anything in his life more than he wanted Freyja (or whom he believed her to be, at any rate) in that moment. Fearlessly, he moved closer to her and touched his nose to her cheek, inhaling the aroma of her cycle where it lingered upon her fur. “Fallegur,” He murmured in the guttural language of his father: he was not fluent for his lessons with Thistle were cut short by his decision to leave Moonspear but he was confident he knew enough to impress the queen of valkyries. “beautiful.” He breathed once more, this time favoring the common tongue instead, hoping to flatter but also to express the honesty. She was all that Kjalarr could focus upon. He reached for her again, wanting to brush his muzzle against hers and if she did not pull away from him sneak in a few tenative kisses (licks) to her jaw. Right now, he was testing. Trying to find out how his advances would be received by her.

The young male was brave, daring even and the witch within Osprey both purred out of pleasure for his tender touches and flattering and at the same time it noted that he had crossed the invisible border between two strangers far too easily, far too soon. Therefore she waited patiently, until the fellow retreated just a little and without a word lashed out at him - her jaws snapping just inches from his muzzle. It was a polite reminder that this was no one person's game and that at the first round he had laid out too many cards on the table. 

She then backed away, went down to a play bow and regarded him with a challenging gaze and a toothy grin, indicating that they were still playing and that the fellow should think about his next move carefully. She was not going to give him any hints about, what she was going to do. Being a witch was an advantage here - they always played by their own rules.

Kjalarr had been under his own misgivings that he was doing well, that things were progressing until he drew back and in a breadth of a moment between a beat of his heart and a soft flutter of breath in his throat Freyja had lashed out at him, her teeth snapping at his muzzle causing his ears to slick back to his crown and him to slink back in retreat, giving her, her space. His heart hammered within it's prison of flesh and bone, adrenaline rushing through his veins like ice as he studied her monochrome form acknowledging that he'd stepped over some boundary line. The softest of sighs fell from betwixt the Loðbrok's lips, perhaps a sound of defeat but she did not give way to a chase as he had expected. He wasn't sure what happened now, and he wasn't entirely sure he'd just been rejected; and really how could he, a mere mortal, compare to her husband the Allfather and King himself: Odin? Yet, she did not chase him from the shore, nor away from her.

She hadn't been rejecting him, Kjalarr realized as he watched her body bow into a playful position, her front half lowered with her rump in the air. The queen of valkyries' gaze was a challenge and a grin had tugged at the edges of her lovely lips up at him. The berserker was young, and in this situation lacked any sort of experience; but so long as she was willing to teach him how this dance went then he was more than willing to learn from her. His own body lowered into a play bow, mimicking her, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred muzzle, a cant of his head (in a manner that was eerily similar to Ragnar) ever so slightly to the side he hung back, inviting her to make the first move this time, to instruct him so that he could pick up on what she wanted and not make the same mistake twice.

Unlike most people Osprey had met during spring madness this and the previous years, this fellow was actually willing to comply and not make any advances, unless he was invited to. That way he earned a "+" in her good books and didn't kill the muse of playing and enjoying their time together. Having a partner that was arrogant enough to assume that the world owed them everything was annoying and unsettling in many cases. 

Osprey held the young man's gaze for a long time, admiring the unusually bright blue color, which reminded her a pair of gems, then letting her eyes travel to have a quick overall look of his body. Finally deciding that it was enough time wasted just looking, she raised from the bow and approached the male with stiff legs and tail raised and wagging in a mock-dominance, coming as close as he allowed and leaning towards him to have a sniff at his nape. Should he let her progress, she would grab it and put one forepaw on his back.

Feel free to pp Kjalarr as needed. c:

Perhaps it was simply Kjalarr's inexperience with the archaic instincts that smoldered and roiled within him like a flicker of a flame on the cusp of turning into an inferno. He didn't really understand it, he only knew what his body wanted to do and that hopefully, eventually Freyja would reward him by allowing it. He didn't presume anything; though he'd already crossed the line once. Kjalarr was stubborn but he wasn't ignorant. Crossing lines would not get him what he wanted, this much Freyja had made clear. He watched her watch him, feeling a small swell of pride and beneath that pride a subdued and strange sort of power as she assessed him. He was a good subject of her assessment, his muscles taunt and still as he allowed her to take her time in her examination. Physical appearance, or attractiveness was not something Kjalarr, whose monochromacy made discerning fine details hard as it was, paid much attention to; though to be fair Wildfire was the first girl he'd ever really looked at as potential but she was taken by his twin brother and therefore off limits to him. Despite his disregard of if he was handsome or not (he really didn't know) he idly found himself wondering if she found him handsome or if she just was willing to amuse him out of pity, since he was too young to actually sire her children.

Kjalarr did not have much time to linger upon the question internally for Freyja had risen and approached him, closing the distance he had put between them when her wordless warning, her gait commanding and her tail rose in mock-dominance. Over the salty brine that drifted off the endless ocean breeze he was hit once more by the saccharine scent emitting from her body, a soft rush of warmth and resulted tingling in his abdomen. He inhaled deeply and let it out, pious beneath her whims as she approached close, her teeth grasping at his nape and one of her forepaws pressed upon the junction of his shoulders. She could do with him what she wanted and would not likely meet resistance from the young, perhaps even starstruck, Berserker.

The young male did not resist Osprey's display of dominance, so after a bit of pause she removed her forepaw and began nosing through his fur on the scruff and lower neck, having a taste of his smell and then proceeding to exploring his whole body, touching him lightly here and there, all the while enjoying the feeling of having the upper-hand and this sense of power the youth allowed her to have. Surely, despite his age, he could easily overpower the older she-wolf, should he wish so. But he did not, because she could sense a strong desire in him for something that she possessed. 

Curious, she stepped back and studied the fellow for a while, trying to figure out, what was going on in his mind, and then decided that a more simple way of dealing with this was just asking. "What is that you want?" she asked quietly, sliding down to her belly, leaving one fore-paw crooked under her chest, while her hind legs were extended behind her. Osprey waited for his answer, realizing that the more important question was - whether it was something she would be willing to give.

Kjalarr was obedient — a rare form for him — but importantly he was still as he allowed her to nose through the tendrils of fur at his scruff and neck, followed by touches that were feather light, yet he was receptive to them all, a low noise resembling a purr of pleasure rumbling in his chest. She didn't tease him, at least Kjalarr assumed, not with the actual intention of teasing him but each touch left him wanting, left him aching to succumb to the primal instinct as archaic as time itself: to further his genetic line, despite that he was not yet old enough to actually produce offspring. Yet, he was maturing and the fact that he was drawn in by her scent, stimulated by her heat cycle, by her tantalizing touches proved as such.

Freyja took a step back from him and slowly, Kjalarr's salmon pink tongue snaked over his lips, over his muzzle as he contemplated her question, despite that it required no true thought. He wondered, idly in the part of his brain that wasn't clouded by instinct and the desire to take,if this was a test. What did he want? Was it her specifically? Or to sate the lingering fire in his loins? Both, perhaps. Kjalarr suspected that she knew very well what he wanted. His response could be simple, or it could be complicated. “I want what my instincts are telling me I want,” He responded slowly, carefully. He didn't know her, not anything about her — not even her name. Perhaps, he did not want to know her. Would the illusion of Freyja be shattered if he did? He did not know and wasn't so sure he was willing to find out.

“What do you want?” He returned the question to her.

He was an honest fellow and straightforward too - Osprey accepted his answer with a mischievous expression, but took her time to tell him, what he wanted to know, or whether to reply at all. It was not too common for her to be in charge and the sense of power over something or someone was exciting. She looked at him from head to toe again and casting her glance upwards then, thinking. The male beheld a certain charm and she could not deny that she was impressed by what she saw. And the innocence was adorable. Yet unlike the way the she-wolf felt about most of the young wolves around her - a motherly care and need to protect them - she found she liked him as an individual. 

So all in all - was there really much room for thinking? A freedom and courage given once a year to go out in the world and take, whatever it offered. Who knew - perhaps this was the last year too. And with this thought in mind she got to her feet, stretched, approached the young wolf so close that their muzzles over touched and said quietly: "Come away with me." With that she turned around and ran - whether the young one decided to follow, was up to him.

Kjalarr saw no point in hiding what was obvious from her, and there was no point in lying to her. He had been drawn in by the saccharine scent emitting from her body, inviting and perhaps even forbidden to him. He didn't know, hadn't asked and had no intentions of doing so. Freyja was a woman full grown, more than capable of making her decisions and if he happened to be her decision then so be it. Who was he to disagree with a goddess? Kjalarr was patient, a rare but well learned trait for him to exhibit as she, he assumed, toyed with her options which were pretty clear cut: allow him to divulge in what he hoped they both wanted, or shoo him off. Kjalarr supposed that for her it probably was a bit more complicated than that; and if he were old enough to bear her children he could see reason for hesitation. However, he was not of the age to father children and essentially he was harmless to her and any reputation she bore. Unless she told (or someone saw) no one would know she'd been with him because there were not repercussions that could fall from it; at least in the form of children.

It was a once in a lifetime chance. Ok, probably not once in a lifetime for surely a woman as lovely and divine as she had a queue of men waiting. He watched as she stood and drew nearer to him, his breath hitching ever so slightly with anticipation as her muzzle brushed against his own. It took all of his willpower to resist nipping at her cheek in a love bite. Miraculously, he resisted, and felt a soft shiver slither down his spine when she encouraged him to go with her, and then she was apart from him, running off. It took all of a few seconds for him to follow after her, her scent trail more than enough for him to go off of though her gray form stayed in his line of sight. “Where are we going?” The northman called after her, curious and beyond that eager to arrive at her desired destination.

ooc: Kjalarr's assumption that Osprey is Freyja reminds, when I was once talking to a Greek guy, who was retelling a story, where a mortal man refused the romantic advances of a goddess (I think it was Aphrodite). His take on the situation was: "Well, if that goddess walked in my dorm room and asked me to have her, I would be like - hell, yeah!"

Osprey did not give much thought about actions and consequences now - she was caught up in the moment and let things happen. Enjoy the experience, whatever it might turn out to be, and move on after that. It was very likely that their paths would never cross again, which would make the latter a lot more easier to achieve. 

Running had always been something that brought her imminent joy. The full awareness of the strength her body beheld, the feeling that you could almost fly... The young wolf caught up with her with enviable ease and for few seconds Osprey pushed herself to the limits, to keep up with him, but then - rather than answering the question - she simply made a move to the side in order to crash in him with her shoulder and possibly take out of balance.

lol!

Despite that Kjalarr followed after her — for what is a guy to do when a goddess beckons and invites him to a night of wild and wayward passion so long as he followed (Kjalarr presumed anyway)? — he yearned for something much more intimate than following after her. His body ached in places that it never had before, a tingling warmth had spread in his abdomen and his body yearned in ways he'd never known it could. Kjalarr had been too busy, apparently, focusing upon everything but girls or women to realize the alluring hold they could have on him. Or perhaps that was simply her power, Freyja was the the goddess of fertility and love, after all. It was not love that enticed Kjalarr Loðbrok; that much he knew and he was perfectly okay with that. 

For a few moments they kept pace, Freyja pushing her smaller body to match his long and effortless strides. He half considered breaking his stride and fall behind her so he could enjoy the view she presented him with but he remembered that she was still very much in charge of this when she stepped to the side. Her shoulder crashed into his, unexpected as it was and he was knocked off balance, stumbling. Caught off guard and off balance he collided with the ground roughly. A low, wanting growl rumbled in his throat though it was far from an aggressive noise. Salmon pink tongue slipped from betwixt his lips to lick at his jowls as he fixed her in his stare, his eyes saying what he did not speak out loud: 'now what'? It was a coy look and a coy unspoken question, having no misgivings that she would lead him to what she wanted him to do next.

Osprey had not expected to take the boy down so easily - though younger, he was bigger and stronger than her and yet apparently he was so eager to please her, that not only did he fall to the ground, he also stayed there, regarding her with searching eyes, as if asking, what she was about to next. She let her mischievous gaze lock with his for a moment and then she pounced at him like a fox does, when it wants to catch a mouse.  

It was a playful move. She probably could, but she did not want to do him any substantial damage. And since he had been so good to follow her lead, he deserved some sort of a treat - didn't he? So with her forepaws placed on either side of his head, she leaned down to his face and gave some tender kisses first on his chin and then moving upwards to the side of his face, until she reached his temple and the base of his ear - there the touch of her muzzle lingered longer, before she retreated a bit to look the fellow in the eye and see, how had he liked it.

Kjalarr was nothing short of captivated by the scent her body was giving off, though for all it was worth she in and of herself was the apple of his eye in the moment. Though it was simply: the chemical reaction induced by her own hormonal secretions, followed by the heightening (more like discovery) of a previously dormant, currently useless and archaic instinct to spread his gene pool that was near to driving him mad with the flush of desire and ache in his loins coupled by the torture of not being able to relieve himself of it. Of course he could choose to walk away and hump the nearest tree but where was the victory in that? And why? When the most divine and beautiful of Goddesses was before him. So she was teasing him …Kjalarr couldn't claim that he hated it because he didn't. Only a fool would choose a tree to the most decadent and ethereal flesh incarnation before them.

Freyja pounced on him, a low rumble of pleasure lingering in the strong column of the viking's throat. His head canted ever so slightly up towards her, claws digging into the soft soil beneath his body with restraint. Whether it was his patience or his obedience that was rewarded Kjalarr didn't know — for the lines had blurred a while ago — the touch of her tongue against in kisses against his chin, leaving a trail of fire up as she kissed up to the junction of his temple and the base of his ear, where her lips lingered. His eyes closed against the tantalizing tease of her touch, knowing that it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted all she had to offer him. He felt her absence as she retreated some, though she lingered near to him, her scent strong against the flare of his black, leathery nostrils and his eyes opened, clouded with his desire as he sought the monochrome details of her face. 

He was unsure if she would retreat if he demanded more, and so he settled for another low rumble of pleasure hoping that it might encourage her.

Osprey didn't even have to ask - the burning desire was written in the young man's features - the way he was looking at her, the way he acted... she could almost sense it, so strong and thick it was that for a moment it seemed that the only thing left for her to do was to reach out and touch it. She regarded him with a smile instead, having some playful nibbles at his cheeks and then at the tips of his, and eventually pressing her muzzle against his forehead in an affectionate manner. 

It was easy to show love and attention to him here and now, knowing that this was not going to last, that they were strangers, who had met each other by pure chance. And taken a liking in each other, even if it was purely superficial, based on, what the instincts were telling them to do. Tomorrow, maybe few days from now the mutual attraction would be gone. Her heart rate accelerated, the fire within her grew stronger and suddenly, as the realization that this meeting would end atsome point seeped in, she wanted more than just playing around too. 

Therefore she stepped back and stood there, watching the man before her and wondering, if he had taken the hint that for this round he was in charge.

The affection lingered in her gestures, a shallow love built off the drive of instincts but for now, and in the moment the heat of it was staggering and it was more than enough for the northman. Kjalarr did not know if these affectionate gestures were usually apart of this: in truth he was following her lead, giving into her desires and what she sought from this encounter. From the signs he was presented with Freyja appeared to be enjoying what they shared, and though he was a very dominate creature by nature he did not mind catering to her — though this was probably extremely selfish of Kjalarr in and of itself. He strongly suspected that if he gave her what she wanted first that she might very well return the favor to him, and hoped that the intoxicating scent of her body meant that she wanted this as bad as he did. 

Kjalarr could not fully enjoy the moment that the goddess shared with him, her forehead resting against his in a touch that he could claim he'd ever known before. He did not take the time to assess the gesture, savage and wanting as he was. His mind was on what she had yet to give him, on what they had to give one another. She pulled away suddenly and the absence of her warmth was felt to the young viking as she took a step back, watching him. His head canted slightly before he pushed himself to his paws. He approached her, mimicking in his earlier advances: he brushed his muzzle against hers, teeth lashing through the silken tendrils of fur at her cheek in a love bite. He recalled only long enough to judge her reaction though he was confident that this time she would not warn him off. He placed a feverish trail of kisses to her jaw, nipping gingerly, with a feral sort of playfulness before he moved to circle her though he dared to not break body contact, sliding his side against hers so that they grays of their individual coats meshed, pausing to nip wickedly at her thigh, his nose skimming the fur there, her scent stronger here, as he was in close proximity to it's origin. His tongue trailed the fur place where he'd nipped at her thigh.

Kjalarr rounded her then, his chest bumping against her thigh as he moved with the clear intent to tease, sniffing at her instinct telling him that though the desire to mount her was strong he needed her permission first.

ooc: I marked it as private in order to draw this thread to a proper close.

Osprey stood, regarding him with a calm gaze and waiting for the young male to come closer. He did, she greeted him with a swaying tail and at his first touch, shiver ran down her spine. She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly, enjoying the feel of his body against hers and taking in his sweet youthful smell. He had not seen much of the world in that sense, young and inexperienced. Whether that was true or not, didn't matter, she was oddly elated to have him here with her, when there could be million of other girls. What a day for her - a rulebraker, daredevil and now this. 

And yet... as mesmerizing his presence was, at the back of the mind it didn't feel right. Though he had managed to wake the lust that was hidden within her, somewhere deep inside she longed for another touch, a familiar one, the one that held different kind of love, which would last long after this madness would be over. It was just for a moment, a flicker, which was drowned by the instincts, which took hold of her and told her what to do. At the end of the day she was just a feral creature, doing the task that the nature had intended her to. So with the eyes still closed she lowered her head and granted him permission to move on.

As always, feel free to pp Kja as needed! <3

Kjalarr was enraptured by her and saw no harm in the intimacy they would share; and share it they would. His teeth grazed the fur at the junction of her spine and tail bone, teasing with a wicked smirk that had once been worn by his infamous father many, many times in his four years of life. He drew in a deep breath of her intoxicated scent, an inferno raising with him as the viking shifted his weight with tempered impatience. Her tail moved aside for him and instinct drove him forward to mount her and make them lovers of the night.

When they had finished and were able to separate from one another Kjalarr moved against her side, infamous Ragnar smirk upon his lips as he regarded her. He placed a kiss on her cheek, simply because it seemed like a polite thing to do (he was still used to these rituals) and did not wish to offend the goddess Freyja. He offered her no words as he, even still, waited for her guidance as to what happened next: whether they stayed here or went their own ways.

It was almost like a year ago, when Osprey had been wooed by a handsome young male she had met in the wilds during prime of her heat. She didn't recall his name or looks, only the bitter feeling that she had been rejected by someone else and that she desperately wanted to forget the embarrassment. Had it helped - not really, only caused more trouble. So, what was she looking for this time?

The young male moved on, mounted her and did, what he had to do, and Osprey complied, patiently letting him reach his peak and have a release, while her mind was miles away. It had been so easy to tell herself to give into the moment, to show affection to the stranger and seduce him, making him and her believe that this was, how she had wanted things to end. In a way nature had succeeded in using all the tools to bring two strong individuals together and yet... 

Why rather than feeling pleasure, being with this man to the end, even a bit of smugness for the accomplishment, there was sadness? Growing and spreading, making every thought and action done before trivial. The momentary, superficial love - pointless and silly. He moved to stand next to her and gave a kiss, she didn't respond at first, but turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face and when they did not seem to find, what they had been looking for, she sighed and went towards the ocean shore, going knee deep with her gaze fixed at the horizon. 

ooc: unexpected from Osprey, this means that I might change the ending. One more post from you and me?

She did not seem to be overly thrilled with it, he observed as he had drew to place a kiss on her cheek. He followed through with the action however, drawing back to stare at her curiously when she turned her to face him. Kjalarr could feel her eyes searching him ...but for what the viking didn't know. He drew in a soft breath, an apology on the tip of his tongue; but Freyja had wanted it too. He wondered, idly if she regretted it but why? There was no shame in what they'd done and due to his lack of sexual maturity there would be no children to come of it. 

Freyja sighed and turned away from him. For a moment as she walked away Kjalarr simply stared after her. It was only when she began to wade into the ocean's waves did he move to follow her, the tide of the sea lapping against the fur of his belly as he splashed through it to reach her. “What are you doing?” He demanded, suddenly afraid that she was going to go too far and be pulled away from shore from a rip tide as he'd been when he'd been a small boy; from these very shores to be exact. “Did I do something wrong?” Because she didn't react that way he thought she should have — not that he truly had any what to truly expect.

It was odd, how one moment you could feel an overwhelming lust that swept away any and all remnants of rational reasoning in one's mind and then in the next you would feel despair for making a mistake. You could compare it to the pleasure an adrenaline rush brings, when swimming downstream fast and, how it all changes to the sheer terror, when realizing that the river goes over a steep cliff and you are plunging down to your death head-first. The longer she stood there with the young man near her, asking questions he had a right to get an answer to, the more unbearable it was. The sense of guilt for involving an innocent into something that she herself did not yet understand. 

She took her time to find the right words and eventually she turned to face him once again with a sad smile playing in her lips and she said: "There was no love." So very few words, but so much she wanted to tell. "Don't blame yourself," Osprey reached for one final touch on the side of the young man's muzzle. And then she moved passed him, out of the water and accross the beach running in a brisk trot towards her home and having an air of a person that did not want to be followed. 

ooc: last post from me. Thank you for the thread! And if you wish, they can meet each other at some point later. They don't live that far off. 

Kjalarr watched her monochrome form as she turned to face him, and spoke that there was no love between them. This did not strike Kjalarr as a surprise — he had not expected such a thing. He wasn't sure what love was, nor if he'd ever felt in his life (he hadn't at least in the romantic sense) but he was sure that there was none between Freyja and him. Kjalarr's knowledge on the scent that females emitted when they were in heat was limited but he suspected it had been a driving force between them. He watched her go, and only when her figure disappeared into the monochrome horizon he turned and sloshed back to the shore, heading in the direction of Saltwinter, contented.