Wild Berry Meadow follow you down

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The night was young, and as it was born she was summoned by Them. Helpless, Their obedient servant, Byll rose and moved after them. There was no time to alert Buffalo of this, but then she never had need to; he seemed to know, always, when she was possessed, when she was herself and when she was not. The definition was fluid. Who was Byll? When was she herself, and when was she Them?

When They took her, they did so in the meadows where the foxes played that eve. The violence They provoked in her was mindless and savage; they ran, and she slaughtered, because it was asked of her for a sacrifice. They were not dead when she piled them upon one another, but they were broken. Perhaps they died when she rolled upon them. She felt their nipping fangs, the needle-like pinching prick of them, but they did not break skin. Their blood upon her, and their last breath, too, maybe. She did not know when they died; she did not care. She had done what she had been asked, and the sweet, delectable scent of berries was detected.

She drifted from the murder scene, stopping only when she was before the wildberries, and then sampling one that looked particularly sweet.

and buffalo watched.

when byll rose and walked off, as if in a trance, he followed. it had always been thus, and would be again. from his perch upon a small rise he watched as his sister, eyes glazed as she listened to inner whisperings only she could hear, began her work upon the hapless foxes. he did not move to aid her -- in these times, byll was as a berskerer of northern lore, her delicate, mad-doll body transformed into some vengeful and demonic tool of the blackness, and none could stand before her.

when she had finished, delicately biting into a berry, covered in vulpine blood, buffalo stole down upon her and rubbed the length of his larger body against her smaller one, smearing crimson against his own pelt before whirling to nip her throat. "now, now!" he demanded, wanting to feel the thrum of the gods within her body, and there was but one way to do so.

Blue-red smeared upon her lips; what was the difference between blood and bruised berry? She heard the sound of Buffalo, and she looked to him with pure want. Selfish, indulgent, she craved. But first, this thirsting hunger she would slake! Dine with me, brother! We must celebrate the fast with the feast of all things that give us pleasure! She tore a branch, and from it dangled many succulent berries, and waved it before him before dropping it to the earth. Forgetful, impulsive, she moved to his hip to rub herself against him, to give to him the blood the Gods had asked her to spill, to share with him this as she would all things forevermore. For days on end they had deprived themselves of this pleasure, because it was willed by Them, but They had spoken and demanded that they have their fill of it this eve, in every way that they so desired.

hold on kids and have yer parents sign those permission slips before u read this post.

"i don't want any fuckin' berries, byll," buffalo snarled, annoyed by her stupid prancing. his sword of truth had been unsheathed and stood at the ready; his lust for her spiraled out with each beat of his heart, ever existent but never so high as in the moment she stood rampantly filled with the spirit of their beloved loa.

byll angled herself toward him -- the man took it as a sign of her willingness and encircled her thin waist with his muscular forearms, drawing her back roughly to meet the rut of his pelvis. if he did not strike his mark the first time, buffalo did not care -- he shoved himself forward until he was immersed in the very core of her godlike vibrations.

"fuck," he spat, his movements slow and yet harsh against her -- he felt the spirits 'round them; he could all but hear their whispering. she was driving him heavenward with each vicious thrust; she alone could touch their threshhold, but buffalo would sup with them as well in these moments.

"listen ... listen," he panted into her ruff between his rough gestures. "a baby ... a child. for us," he grunted, his movements intensifying as the edge of his climax drew near. "but not for ... us. for sos. for the loa."

it was the last coherent thing buffalo was able to speak; he buried his face in her bloodstained guard hairs and cried out hoarsely as he reached the very moment of crisis, pale light exploding behind his tightly closed lids.

he rocked back onto his hindlegs now, moving his weight from her slim withers. "i wonder why they haven't given you a child yet," he muttered, preparing to be locked together for a bit. "i mean, i'm doing my part." he cackled merrily.