Whitebark Stream when that strange shape drove suddenly betwixt us and the Sun [mtr.]

she is content, then, slumbering as snow falls all around. their claim is solid; in time, they will get to know one another, they will grow together, the seasons will turn and they will prosper. her dreams are idle, tired, she sleeps long and deep until the barest light of dawn begins to play upon the snow, rousing her gently and then all at once. 

buried as she is beneath the snows, the scent is hard to miss. it takes her a moment to identify it, groggy as she is, and with the recognition comes a brief flash of panic. it is soon, and sudden; she ought to have more time. last year, last year had been later, she ought to have weeks, months. the leader pushes out of the snow, springing forward before trotting a tight circle, sniffing her rear. 

there is no mistaking it, she knows the scent, know the feeling. doubt, then—is she right to try this all again? she remembers the unbearable pain, the loss. but too the joy, the easy happiness and the way it had felt good and right. she stills, then, considering.

her doubt fades, replaced with a knowledge of what she wants—who she wants. the huntress wheels and adopts a swift trot, searching for a scent, a trail, and issuing a low, soft call for @Artyom when she thinks him near.

Though the morning's fog had been swift to fade, that familiar chill remained in the air: the promise of snow. Artyom awaited it with excited anticipation, keen to frolic among fresh drifts in celebration of Whitebark's announcement of their claim, though it waited until evening crept in to greet them.

So out he went, into the open where the frozen rain could fall freely without the obstruction of foliage, and loped along the forest's edge with all the joy of a Springtime lamb. He clacked his fangs toward the largest of snowflakes from time to time, tail swishing merrily at his rear as he entertained his inner child.

A voice called out to him, however, silky smooth and enough to distract him completely. Artyom halted immediately and swung around to face the woods that'd been behind him, ears forward and gaze searching, until he spotted Dawn among the trees.

He was glad to see her, and innocently beckoned her closer with a soft woof of encouragement - hopeful that she might enjoy a night time run alongside him to work off any stress she may have accumulated in recent days. As she drew nearer, however, there was a small discomfort niggling at him, and it grew more apparent as he caught her staring right at him with those bedroom eyes.

He blinked, twitterpated, driven at once to appreciate her delicate beauty as she moved toward him. Artyom felt suddenly drunk as he swayed, inhaling deep an aroma designed to lure a male in like moth to flame.

The ranger had never wanted find himself victim to the season's embrace, not without the appropriate courting beforehand. It was not in his nature to take advantage: he was gentle, respectful, romantic. Yet there he stood, caught off guard and, suddenly, very aware of his very real desires to cast each of those virtues aside in favour of a thrilling night with his sterling Queen.

But he would not.

He could not.

Artyom maintained his silence, rooted to the spot and increasingly fearful of the reason his Alphess had come searching for him. To her he dipped his muzzle and smoothed back his ears, submissive, tail twitching anxiously behind him as he eyed her with growing guilt for such selfish thoughts.

his woof draws her near, though she pauses some distance from that at which she would usually meet her friend. she stills, tail swaying, and considers him quietly. he blinks, sways, his expression morphing until it comes to rest on nervous fear, auds slicking back to press against his crown, hers press forward, but she remains rooted; for a moment they are two silent statues in the wood. 

her tongue passes over her lips, and she speaks. "I wouldn't have come to find you if I hadn't been sure. but I am, art." there is no need to elaborate on what goes unsaid; the scent of her season is clear enough message alone. her gaze passes over him, suddenly nervous. it is betrayed only by a twitch of her ear, a shifting of her gaze. it is not doubt, no; no "maybe one day"s or "I think I love you"s, as it had been with aditya. she knows what she wants, and who she wants it with. but she worries for their friendship, it is precious to her, and new. 

"but if you don't want this, I understand." her own muzzle lowers, respectful of his; she does not want to be some commanding leader in this moment.

She held him firm in her gaze, and for a moment he fears he may falter beneath her scrutiny. Within his chest his heart thrummed wildly, each beat a threat that it may escape the cage that cradled it, and Artyom felt his knees weaken.

The ranger worried quietly, stared at the smooth platinum of his Alphess' fine limbs as she stood before him, gaze rising tentatively to linger on the delicate curve where her jaw met her throat. In that moment, Artyom wished for nothing more to seek her warmth there, to close the gap between them and press his cheek to hers, trace his lips tenderly to the base of a silver lobe. A gesture not to lure her in for his benefit but one to remind her of her value: you are worth more than what you're looking for here.

Dawn deserved to be more than teeth at her nape and awkward fumblings in the snow. She should be held dear, her body treated with the respect of someone who worshipped everything that made her who she was. And it pained him to realise she sought him for the sole reason of some quick jump, when she should have a man who cherished her completely.

Artyom sought her features when at last she spoke to him, and he felt his mouth dry. She spoke boldly, eager to show him that she was certain of her choice, but he noticed the minor details that betrayed her confidence. Dawn seemed sure, but not sure, further solidifying his belief that she'd been driven purely by a hormonal surge to reproduce - not because she wanted to be there.

"I..." he struggled, knowing it was right to reject her, but unable to deny the guilt in do so. Artyom was fond of Dawn and could appreciate their capability - it had certainly crossed his mind in these early days of comradery - and so, he did not wish to hurt of embarass her. A strained whine then, earthen eyes aglimmer with uncertainty; "Dawn, I... I can't."

Not to her. Not to himself.

Not to Ana's memory.

he starts, stops, starts again. the leader's ears sweep back, she takes a half-step back. she is bitterly disappointed, she knows she must respect his refusal; this has been her desire, and she respects her friend too much to forcefully draw him into it. she could find another, someone willing. but her brows furrow then as she realizes she does not want to — as much as she wants this, to seek it some other way feels wrong, she does not want another. 

"we have not know each other long, artyom. but already you are important—important to me." she recalls their conversation then, the more she hoped would follow. ears flick forward again, and it is with conviction that she claims, "I don't want any other, I don't want a fling. I want you. you." it is bold, perhaps, but it is without doubt. 

gaze meets his a moment, wanting him only to see. to feel, to understand the certainty she feels. "so say it again, if you really mean it. say you can't, and I'll go." this, softer.

He watched her take a backward stride, and the shame came swift to accompany his refusal of her advancement. The memory of her admission only days prior was vivid: she longed to be a mother again. As her solemn gaze remained on him, disappointed, Artyom questioned if their budding friendship could ever recover and felt concern over the extent that Dawn might go to reach this goal - with or without his assistance.

Dawn gathered herself, unwilling to turn away. She spoke again, touched on his sore spot with words by exposing his weakness. He'd told her what he wished to experience, how his heart longed to pair with another and mean something. It was what he believed he deserved, just as Dawn did. On she went, attempting to reassure him.

Him, she said. Only him.

Artyom blinked, tongue pushing anxiously at the back of his teeth as he considered how to respond, wondered what it was she meant. Was she suggesting that they use the season to bind them to one another permanently? Asking for him to take her as his mate? An ultimatum came, then, which heightened his anxiety; the last thing he wanted was to lose her.

"I will not deny that I have considered making attempt to court you in future," the gilded ranger told her softly, honestly, as her eyes held his. He took this opportunity to search their liquid bronze depths, hunting for a hint that she sought to lure him with false promise, but he didn't think want to believe her capable of deceiving him. "It just... I did not want for it to happen this way."

she sways; she wants to step forward once more, go to him. but it is his choice, his decision, and he remains rooted. her gaze softens when he reveals his intent; warmth could in her chest. "I thought we'd have more time," she admits, fighting the urge to go to him, trade the line of his jaw with her muzzle, draw him close. 

"court me now," she asks suddenly. "we can slip away, a day, two. I want to know you, please." restraint; it does not come easily, but it is manageable, and she can wait, for a time. for him, she can wait.

Artyom had already thought of the ways he would express his interest in her, brought them once more to the forefront of his mind as she encouraged that he quicken his intentions. Gilded ears swivelled atop his head as he felt panic rise; this was all too soon, without real preparation.

He would bring her wildflowers in Springtime. One each time, every one different until he could find the bloom that made her light up most. He would find her most beloved plateau and escort her there so they might watch the sunset together. He would do what it takes to make it known just how special she was, so that they both may fall deeply into something indescribable.

It was love he sought, and there friendship was too fresh to know the outcome. Fiercely independent as she appeared, it could easily be that she would not appreciate or accept his little gestures in the way Ana once had.

She was sure, she said. Sure. Something he wished he could be, right then and there, to be exactly who she needed him to be.

But it was all wrong to him. Wrong, wrong, horribly and devastatingly wrong.

Artyom swallowed the lump that swelled in his throat, regarding her concerns of what little time Mother Nature had decided to grant her in order to conceive what she so dreamed. Some tiny, feral part of him burned with an unbridled desire to let go of his fears, to stride forward and embrace her as she wanted. Every other fibre of his being grounded him there, fearful of the aftermath: would she come to regret his warmth when her heat subsided?

"Dawn," he crooned, at last creeping forward tentatively to reach out to her with his muzzle. He pressed his lips to the silk of her sterling brow, gentle and afraid. "I want to know you, too. I... I want to give you all of the things you wish for, but I..." a single peppered kiss, careful and sweet, before he drew back just enough to seek her gaze with his own, "I don't want to disrespect you in doing so."

he speaks, and steps forward. her gaze shutters closed as he places featherlight touch on her brow, there is a warmth that grows to envelop the whole of her. her first heat had been reckless and wanting, this—this is softer. this is desire, and somehow it is entirely different from want, from need. 

"artyom," she murmurs, still as she withdraws. "please, do not be afraid." for she can sense it still, the fear, the panic; hates herself for being the cause. at his worry she only shakes her head, touching his gaze with her own before taking a step near. "you do me no such thing," she promises, soft, but firm. she lapses into stillness; this is his choice, now.

A shiver, trailing from the tip of his snout and along the length of his spine, to dissipate where his tail tapered. It was an emotional exchange as Dawn mustered a soft plea for him: do not be afraid.

She took a careful stride backward, keen to turn her eyes toward his worried features again. Silence hung between them, tense and filled with uncertainty. More than anything, with everything right at the heart of him, he wanted to trust her. Believe that, together, they could be exactly who they needed to be - for the rest of their lives.

Not the mention the outcome of such an encounter: offspring. Raised with firm instruction from his parents to never sire bastards, he could imagine the scorn with which they'd look upon him if they knew. His previous mateship was one not of his choosing - Ana had been selected by his mother - though by luck, she'd been the only unrelated wolfess available and together they'd fallen fast. Their home pack had been on the verge of in-breeding, so strong was their wish to keep the Russian bloodline pure and, although he never understood the reason why, it was still difficult to shed something so ingrained.

Butterflies took flight in the pit of his belly and, swallowing, he observed her stride toward him. This was it: do, or do not. Artyom had already tried to envision a future alongside Dawn, as he did with most she-wolves that caught his eye, and he'd been content to carry on with his silent consideration for a time.

This changed things, though. It changed everything.

With the ball well and truly in his court, Artyom made that that step forward, a little bolder than before. He touched his nose to Dawn's, breathed in the warmth of her exhale and closed his eyes, too afraid to dive deeper but even more afraid to let her go.

relief, and simple happiness. his step toward her is met with a low hum, content and soft in her chest. she had not expected this; her plan had been to find some uninterested male to sire her young and raise them on her own. she'd managed her pregnancy mostly alone, that first time; aditya had been distant. she'd been ready to do it again. 

but she knew better than most how quickly those plans could crumble and morph, and this; this, she thinks, is better than she could have ever hoped for. they touch, then, and for a moment her gaze flickers closed. and then she shifts, planting featherlight touches along the line of his muzzle, a kiss to his cheek; careful, gentle in her ministrations.

Fear. Excited anticipation. Deep-rooted worry. Shame. Delight, for having someone notice him for the first real time since his past beloved. He felt everything, all at once, each nipping at his heels as they battled among themselves in  desperation to be at the forefront. Dawn crooned for him, a delicate sound that sent his heart aflutter, and he rumbled right back.

A decision made: she was worth the risk.

The hesitation would return, he knew, as would his never-ending uncertainty of the situation they'd so suddenly found themselves knee-deep in. It came as a massive leap for the duo who only barely knew one another, but her sorrow would be his, as would her joy and her frustration. This would bind them for life and he hoped fiercely that they could grow together, all of them - Dawn, Artyom and their children to follow. And should fate see fit to ensure they would find themselves unable to breathe, then at least they'd drown together.

It would be easy to gather her beneath him then and there, ge it over and done with, but he had vowed to value her offering. Artyom leaned into every motion of her muzzle, each feather light kiss, listened longingly to each low purl and offered sweet ministrations of his own, though ultimately he encouraged her away.

He led her through the meadows, frolicked like love-struck yearlings beneath freshly falling snow as he originally intended, nipped and nuzzled and flanked her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Darkness enveloped Whitebark entirely and it was hours later, long into the night, he came to settle them in a small clearing amid their evergreen woodland where he turned to look upon her, aglow beneath pale moonlight.

It was then that he reached for her, careful and gentle in his movement, pressing his flank to hers until gold mingled affectionately with silver. His fangs sought to groom the downy furs at the base of her ear and worked their way teasingly to primp  the pale underside of her throat, delivering soft sweeps of his tongue here and there to smooth as he went.

they danced in the manner that two wild creatures do, all gentle touches and careful ministrations draped over a fierceness of spirit, a desire. together, they roamed, evening settled and darkness was pulled taunt over their claim. only then did they come to rest, in some perfect glade lit easily by moonlight. draped in soft silver, the gentle fall of snow all around, gold met silver.

she hums, low and content, as his ministrations trail down her throat. she is utterly motionless, made then of stone and marble. it is only when he pauses she moves to return the gesture, worrying the fur at the soft hollow behind his ear, trailing down his nape. it starts soft and careful, but as her touch meanders, so does it become more forceful, needing, and the croon that slips from the back of her throat asks a question.

He felt content, truly, for the first time since her approach, about what was sure to follow. It wasn't that he feared intimacy but quite the opposite - Artyom simply wished to let her see how he intended to treat her throughout the duration of her heat. For as long as she was receptive, he would do his best to see that she was cared for. He promised to defend her from rogues who might see fit to have her to themselves during such a vulnerable time, and never stray far from her should she have need of him.

Now, after assuring her that his wants for her did not at all lie with the relief she could provide him for as long as her enticing aroma lured him in, Artyom was ready to deliver. To her questioning croon came the answer she'd been waiting for, wordless, as he trailed his muzzle through sterling fur to rest his chin at her withers. His mount came swiftly from the side, ribcage nestling snugly at the small of her back as sleek forelimbs found purchase around her athletic waist where he held her to his undercarriage.

All the while he rumbled softly, eager to express his affection, and with one smooth motion he aligned his hips to hers and brought their bodies together in a connection that would forever change their lives.