Overture Downs in xanadu did kubla khan

the meadow is beautiful. the marauder princess has never had much use for beautiful things, but she can appreciate them when they appear.

she trots gracefully over the grass, enjoying the shade of the multi-hued trees. khorasan had been largely treeless, and notoriously ugly. why else would they pick up and move around, every so often? well, besides the whole 'divide and conquer' thing, anyway.

but this. . .this is beautiful. this is the kind of land a wolf is loath to leave. while she knows that she cannot stay forever, she is content to enjoy it for a while. tasha stops beneath one tall oak, breathing slowly and deeply, her sea-green gaze wandering across the landscape.

what treasures does this place have to offer?

felipe’s travels lead him deeper into the wilds. he rarely stopped for breaks and would only do so for food and rest, then he would hit the road again. it grew colder and colder by the day, winter was just around the corner. the young male wanted to keep on his feet, be ready for anything.

however, a wide, everlasting meadow coerces him into taking a small break. he slowly strolls through the grass, humming softly to himself. all would be still if not for the dark furred girl. curiosity got the best of him and it guided him towards the stranger.

she is an enchanting thing. those bright green eyes against her midnight pelt draw him closer. “hello, ómorfi,” he calls to announce his presence.

ah, all quiet things must come to an end. she turns to face the wiry man, annoyance only one of many emotions flitting over her face before it fades to something impassive and charming. she smiles, eyes glittering, lips puckering slightly as if in contemplation.

"what did you call me, bala?" tasha asks, her voice low and heavily-accented. she strides toward him, tail moving slowly behind her, a silent metronome. "you are brave to address a princess first," she teases coyly.

he will do well enough, she thinks. she likes him already, but then, she likes all men. she is excited to discover what merits this one has.

what did you call me, bala? she asks after turning to face him. the question brings a grin to his face. “i’ll tell you,” he starts, “but only if you tell me what you called me first.”


a princess? how intriguing. you can’t just come across a royal beauty any day. “that i am.” he sat down and tilted his head to one side. “and what should i call you?”

she shakes her head. no, no, she purrs. i do not play that game. you spoke first, you tell me first. that's an order. her spine straightened, head lifting an infinitesimal degree. it is a subtle sign of dominance; she feels herself to be his better, and is not afraid of showing it. he is a good sport, though--there's no doubt about that.

i would prefer your highness, tasha jokes, her smile turning wry. but 'tashkent' will do. and you, bala? she asks, gaze wandering over his form (she never bothered to hide her appreciation for the male figure, though this one's a bit scrawnier than she'd like). what do they call you?

god, she hopes it isn't something dreadfully plain, named after a mountain or some shite. that is all-too common, in the various lands that she has traveled.

he raised a brow and chuckled with amusement. “well aren’t you a firey one,” he quipped, “i’ll tell in due time princess.” where was the fun in handing answers on a silver platter? best to keep one guessing.

tashkent. it was an interesting name. he went over it in his mind once or twice saying, “felipe.”

“what are you doing out here?” he asks.

she laughs, licking her lips as if she's just enjoyed a delicious meal. (she wonders briefly, vaguely, what he would taste like. salty, if his speech is any indication.) i could say the same about you, tashkent sniffs, rolling her eyes, speaking to royalty in such a manner. but i like you, so. . .

tasha runs her gaze over his shoulders, his chest. felipe, she purrs, drawing out each syllable. i am exploring, felipe. what are you doing out here? now she really wonders what he tastes like, but in a different way. funny, how hunger could jump from one extreme to the next.

ómorfi better mean 'beautiful,' though, or he's getting his throat slit.

her observations did not go unnoticed. he smiles and hums as she studies his form and says his name. “do you always look at strangers like this?” he chuckled before answering with, “exploring, just like you.”

only the handsome ones, she responds with a chuckle, her voice like scotch, earthy and rich. she blinks slowly for a long moment before arching her back in a slight, languorous stretch, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her pelt. i hope you have found good things in your travels, tasha purrs, smiling. it would be a waste to have seen nothing of use.

use me.

what you called me, tashkent continues, unwilling to let the subject go. tell me, felipe. i am dying to know. more like, you will die if you don't tell me this very instant.