Duskfire Glacier [m] may stars align

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Makin bebees, heat, & sexuality.

Forward dated to the 25th.

Ever since she and Wintersbane had shared their one on one, meaningful conversation out on the expanse of the ice fields, Tzila had not been able to shake his words from her mind. The remembrance of his voice still clung to her, refusing to be shushed. Perhaps more troubling, if she could even call it that, was the swirl of hope ever present deep in her gut.

Dark lids slid down over her eyes slowly, paired with a gentle exhale of a sigh. She should know better. Know not to get her hopes up. To let this feeling spread and grow more than it did. From life experiences, she had been conditioned against such a thing. Just look at the wreckage of her past year.

But, even shadows could not exist without light.

Duskfire Glacier and all its wolves had become a steadily growing flickering flame in her life. All of her pack mates she was fond of. Felt the beginnings of a connection to, in one way or another. Some deeper than others. There was not a single wolf here whom she didn't like. She trusted them. Felt here, with them, an uncanny sense of unity that she had never sampled in her life before. She wanted it to last. Wanted it to work, this time.

The prickle she had felt in her core had spread. Transformed from just a flutter, to a deep tingle, wriggling just beneath her skin. With it, came a dramatic spike in her energy. A neediness and amplified primal instincts. With a fleeting cold shudder of dread, Tzila recognized the signals of her body all too well. Her time of estrus had come. 

Were the circumstances in her life different and less favorable, the dark woman would have acted as she normally would. Hole up and wait for her bodily demands to pass, as she was one who had always dreaded such a time of year. Even more reason for her to feel as such this season, given the loss of her son and ex-crush. 

But the pack, while small (and just the way she liked it, thank you) had not one, but two solid prospects. @Wintersbane and @Rye. Both of whom shared no commitment to other females and were stable, corner stone members. Not at all the likely type who would slip off the face of the earth. She didn't suspect them to be such wolves. Both she had spent quality time with and had gotten to know on a personal level. 

Ignoring her emotions, or trying her best to, Tzila set off, letting her instincts guide her. Feverishly, she tracked down Wintersbane's scent, desperate to seek him out. Her own filled the air like a lure. A signal tugging anyone of the opposite sex towards her, with a demand that could not be ignored. In a grove of trees of the outer lying forest, she stopped, inhaling what she had been seeking. Her tail wagged, spreading her scent further. He was close...

already too familiar with the scent of heat; it cloys 'round him, teasing his nostrils flaring to drink in the smell. his steps pause, his purpose, previously written into each heavy footfall as he treks across his claim forgotten; gone with the wind that all too happily took it away. whatever he'd been doing — could wait. as lane did, tzila sought him out — or so he assumes given that she, too finds herself in his vicinity — and it is a swell to his ego. it didn't matter the superficial reasons: was it because he was alpha? or something else?

her scent calls to him; like a siren song and he turns to face her, a low crooning rumble in his scarred throat.

Through the trees, she spotted his dark, glacial form. She had been correct in following his trail. It lead her straight towards him. And he was not blind to her presence. No wolf could be, male or female, with the pheromones her body was giving off. Whatever it was he might have been doing at the moment, it was forgotten as he called to her in a low note of invitation. 

Her answer to him was nearly instantaneous. For but a stretch of ticking seconds, she lingered in place, silver eyes settling over his built, scarred body in appreciation. He really was a catch, she thought. Then she was bounding towards him excitably, in short playful strides. Instead of staying teasingly out of reach, the shadow queen all but pressed up in close against his larger stature. Dark fur of blood and ice clashed, meshing in the first of many.

Deep rumbling, affectionate in it's pitch, emanated from within her throat. Here, so close to him, Tzila's hold on her rationale was slipping. Unlike last year, she knew the outcome that awaited her and the Glacier, should they cave into their desires. Silently, she convinced herself; "It is for the good of the pack. New blood will bolster our numbers. Make us stronger."  But she couldn't deny what she truly wanted. What he wanted. He had said so himself, without shame. Tzila sought Wintersbane out not solely because of his role in the pack. It was a nice benefit, surely. More so, it was who he is as a whole, and what he had been through, that appealed to her so deeply.

Swallowed by raging emotions and hormones alike, she with a dark muzzle, reached up to brush the underside of his strong jaw. "You...I-I've been missing you. I couldn't get you out of my mind, since then..." She breathed lowly, shyly. Under her skin, her cheeks, all over...she was flushed with the maddening effects of the season.

tzila is immediately forward; not interested, it would seem, in having him give chase as she instead draws nearer and nearer; so close she is nearly pressed up against him. the brush of her muzzle against his jaw strikes him with an intimacy that wintersbane hasn't felt — hasn't allowed himself to feel — in too long. not since andraste. perhaps unfairly, he thinks of her then: of their future cut short of the family they could've had. she was two years gone from the world now and with her — as with relmyna — he felt sure in his conviction.

yet, he'd broken it once when he'd taken andraste as his wife; still and forever bearing the marks of their union upon his flesh.

confused by his own train of thoughts, he desires to let go of them: to act without thought. giving himself over to instinct was always easiest; relieving almost. and yet, he does not. not yet. not as she speaks shlyly, of missing him; that he's been haunting her thoughts. he could easily chock it up to her being in heat ...but she hadn't been heat during that conversation.

missing me how? he inquires in a rasping rumble; not quite sure what she means or what to make of it. he hadn't left the territory — and he was easily accessible to the glacier wolves should they need his council.

Her thoughts were on the here and now. And distantly clinging to the time they shared under the dancing lights. "Just...you. Your company. Our conversations." She murmured, her voice still low. They had few of those moments like the one's she referred back to. But her tone made it clear that she had enjoyed those times. This was more than just the heat radiating off her body talking.

Tzila wanted and hoped for more of moments like those. Even if they were purely conversational and entirely practical. Somewhere beneath those layers, she dared hope there was a deeper meaning under them. Without realizing, her body had stiffened slightly while she had held herself in place, still pressed to the Tundrian. Feeling anxiousness bubble up inside, unknowing of how he may react, with a flattening of her ears she drew back a step.

perhaps asking her for clarification was cruel of him; given that he was fairly certain of what they both wanted in that moment. the pheromones her body was emitting drew him in like a sailor helpless to a sirens' song. that he offered delightful ( a word he chooses to substitute in there ) conversations was ...a bit surprising. it was true that he liked to talk — and probably liked to hear himself talk though there were moments while his throat was healing that he wasn't sure he would ever be able to speak again — which was so very different from the child and young man he'd been.

though it is hard to force his hazed mind — lulled into a fierce inferno of wanting — to focus upon their past conversation(s), he recalls it after some effort. of how he admitted he was a widower twice, of how her feelings for another had gone unrequited. of how his bad luck as a husband made him gunshy and stonecold. he preferred no strings attached except for those of the children.

he does not answer, though; content to consider. it is not until she pulls back, and his glacial gaze perceives the slick of her ears back to be anxiety that snaps his attention back to the herenow. tzila, he implores in a low, whisky steeped croon, paws ghosting nearer to her. i enjoy our conversations and your company as well. he admits in a rasping murmur. it is hard to find someone with ...shared life experience. maybe not entirely identical to him but similar enough that she surely understands, he thinks.

Swallowing the little lump that had formed in her throat, all the more amplified when he spoke her name, in that voice, she nodded. "For that, I am glad." She understood perfectly well. She liked to think so. But would her next words and the actions that followed prove her wrong? "It is. Though, perhaps..." Silvered eyes slid to the side, down. Then back to his glacial ones, maybe just a little too quickly. "...today we can expect that there will be more. Good ones." She implied, as they as adults knew what would come should they couple. 

She was nervous at the idea of motherhood again. Of failing. But she wanted redemption. Happiness. Wintersbane's desire for children, of a true family was similarly aligned with her own. He had been stung in the past by love. Tzila was not, in this moment, in the grip of her heat, asking for commitment. Her wounds were still too deep, her walls built too solid. Though if extended, it was not something she would deny. The only commitment she sought now was that the future pups of Duskfire have a father in their life. He was insistent on a family, canceling out any of her worries or doubt.  

Any more...personal dynamics between the two of them could play out later. Or not at all, if such wasn't meant to be. She was still maddened by how she couldn't get his image, his voice, his scent, out of her head. She reached out, brushing her muzzle with the coolness of her nose along the scars that riddled his face. Gently, as if the wounds were fresh. Or as if to feel their origins. Or possibly, to melt him.

many days wintersbane feels like he's lived the lifetime of four different wolves — these past four years have been long and trying and unkind to him. he is built for tragedy, though. he is arturo's son; after all and that came with the burden of bearing the 'fearghal' name ( even in part ). i'd like that. wintersbane admits; a tremor in his raspy whisper. he was, he felt, about due for some good shared life experiences.

wintersbane draws in a slow breath; feeling it catch in the strong column of his throat as she reaches out to brush her muzzle against his scars. her touch is cool but gentle; and wintersbane closes his eyes as he revels in her touch as she maps out his history laid out upon his flesh. each scar adding a story to his saga of tragedy ...and of survival.

tzila — he does not mind the touch, nor her curiosity. but his skin feels hot beneath his feverkissed coat and he desires her with a fierce ache that with each brush of her muzzle against a scar upon his flesh becomes more insistent.

Rumbling softly deep in her throat, the last words that slipped from her lips were unusually soft. Full of a tenderness she had not expressed before. "Then, I will give you the family you so desire..." She breathed, sweeping her tongue gently over the heated scars of his flesh. She moved onwards, delicately mapping out those scored along his ribcage. Breathing in their history, the memories carried there. He was written so well, where she felt she nearly paled in comparison.

Back up, to the tip of a dark ear, she hooked her teeth around it in a delicate hold. Deep down, her real emotions masked under her hormones stirred. She almost wanted to leave a mark of her own, but would not cross such a line. Reminding herself of the promise to herself. Which she wasn't sure was beginning to crumble or not. Jaw quivering, she took her possessive hold away.

She slipped around, molding the curves of her body against his as she passed. Then, she dove into playful bow. Tail fanning her scent maddeningly, ears pricked. Intense eyes held him before she skipped away. But not far. Enough to initiate a chase, for them to run side by side before giving in to one another.

wintersbane draws in a breath; steady despite the rapid thrum of his heart. thank you — the feverkissed tundrian rumbles; appreciative of her offer, of her. when she bends into her playbow before him, wintersbane draws forth without hesitation to begin the ritualistic dance that would hopefully usher in duskfire glacier's future.