Duskfire Glacier [m]wen se solèy la

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: heat thread #1, approach at ur own risk. during this time mireille will be more aggressive & interactions with ur character have the potential to result in attack. approach w caution! <3

@Marcus tag for visibility, she will be in the general area all over the taiga so tag me for a followup if u want <3

she had woken beside @Kelsier aflame.
hurriedly, not looking toward him lest it be some invitation, she had mumbled about her supplies, their number, and that she had enough to cleanse and bind his wounds for two days more: comfrey, spiderwebs, moss, strips of wide grass.
and then mireille had met his eyes, and for a single lurching moment she had mourned the loss of this potential connection. but it was too close to home.
and so into the taiga the seawolf had gone, far from the ocean now.
the glacier called to her, lured her as if it were a siren rearing from the earth itself, one carved of ice. mireille knew this land, remembered the pack and its people and the milling masses of caribou.
a thousand sorts of hunger rose in her crimson body, and she called out, voice echoeing in pride and challenge off the ribcage of the glacier.

His grudge took him in to the north. To see the riverside, to climb the glacier - to prove he could, and that his wounds were closed enough. His nephew had fought well against him but Tulimaq had lived; that much proved that Kigipigak was not worthy of his Tartok name or his heritage. The scarred man had come to remedy that.

The river called to him first; there, he found an old den which had been claimed by foxes, and he left them to it. He spread his own scent along the riverbank - and while it was clear this village had been abandoned, Tulimaq relished the activity.

He left that behind to climb higher; and it was there among the ice shelves, where the air reeked of lupines, that an added spice drew his focus. She was a sharp-bodied red thing; he thought of the foxes, briefly, as he climbed after her.

men.
man.
but while the old dislike raised its serpentine head, mireille turned to lave her lips with interested tongue. she took in the measure of the warrior-man, who had sired blood in her family before. but there was no way for mireille to know this. she saw only his strength and his danger.
the young seawolf crooned a warning, tail flagging high as she growled, teeth glinting.
careful
but mireille kept her eyes on him, turning sidelong to suggest he might come a respectful distance closer for further inspection.
the cold wind tore at them both, this high, suspended.

She was young (but not too young) and spry, and somehow familiar but not enough to make him wonder. Her teeth and her tone were a warning he could choose to heed; however Tulimaq was much older, and felt self-assured enough to push boundaries.

He wasn't so much respectful as he was probing, or daring, but never too close. He would not place himself in range of those teeth if he could help it; it would be safer for her, he reasoned. There was no way he could contain himself if struck.

Her scent twinned with that of the freshly blossoming purple flowers from the lower reaches; they were strong enough to waft their scent this far up the glacier, although to mix that with the brine-scent of the woman (and the spice of her situation) was almost off-putting.

Tulimaq crooned a low, hungry note to her.

What did she desire?

worship, mireille flirted back, the vibrato resonant in her throat.
her green eyes did not soften, but they became mirroring emerald flames, nostrils flaring as she took in what fragrances dipped from him at this distance.
caution, always, but now caution was beginning to waver beneath interest. when he sought too much she snarled lightly, though her face did not remain fierce for long; when he quested mireille did also, taking his measure and the promise of his body.
the sea-woman pushed one hip against him, and then darted away, not slowing as red limbs began to blur, paws finding barely remembered paths along the curve of the glacier.

Tulimaq rarely catered to the attention of women. There was one time during the year when he could get what he desired from them, and for that window it was easier because it was mutual, but he rarely sought it out. She was interested — shy, and seeking some measure of control over her state perhaps, but interested. He felt it to be only a matter of time before they both gave in.

She pressed close and then pealed away at a run, slipping along the ice shelf as if she belonged there. Tulimaq rose to the challenge of keeping up with her: it was a fox hunt. He bayed a low sound as her figure blurred against the stone and ice, a hunting hound; and even with his limping gait (from a wound to his foreleg, since healed) he did not dawdle.

Her rufous red was a beacon; himself, an eager moth.

he meant to hunt but mireille was no vixen.
she met his bay with a defiant howl of her own, one that soared from her tones as she snaked to the top of the summiting point and stood upon a sheet of ice, facing into the dawn as a flaming silhouette.
she looked for him; she danced in place, too restless to stand still, alternating between tooth and hum as she waited to see what he might do next.
and fearlessly, always, mireille kept her eyes upon his own.

They climbed together. He was always a step behind, and she was quick but often turning to look upon him, perhaps to goad him faster or to see if she could trust her own eyes? Tulimaq wasn't one to think about things so thoroughly. She paused often enough that he could find her again, and was agitated by her condition, and perhaps confused by it — had she been with a man before? He breathed deeply of the glacier's air and sought her scent in full, to learn more about her. All that came was the scent of her heat, arousing.

He grew close in a defiant manner and boldly moved to sweep at her hips, reaching, dancing around her as gracefully as a boulder falling down a hill; but it was obvious what he wanted, and what she had been luring him for. He grew impatient for her mind to be made up - or for her body to rule out all sense, whichever came first.

mireille's teeth snapped; flashed, once, twice, thrice;
not in fear, not in anger; she felt his impatience and it goaded her to tempt him further. the green eyes were dark and wild as an oceanic storm. she lunged for him in a true bite now, aiming for the side of his muzzle.
his nearness and power drunkened mireille, for she had never been so close in this way to a man not her own kin. and in this came the raving stallion of her own answering might — she would be earned, and in a testing of their violence against one another if need be.
mireille did not think he would injure her; she threw her plume recklessly to and fro, enveloping them both as they churned in high danger upon the topmost ramparts of duskfire.

She fought! That was a spark he had not expected and it was, in its way, entertaining to him. It was more familiar than anything. It was unfortunate that he was still scarred so deeply by his last fight — his nephew having cut his body so deeply, but beyond that the mental anguish of having lost that battle, and those recruits — caused Tulimaq to immediately spiral. The woman's snapping teeth earned a rumble first, and even before his breath was expended he was reaching to snap his own teeth, to parry with her, and was rough about it.

That was Tartok. If she required a test of might, Tulimaq could fulfill that. There was of course a limit to what he should do, or how he should perform, and as he buffeted against her body with his own or pressed the advantage of his size, or were to reach for her possessively, he was not soft about it.

the stranger bruised her, but not so easily. he would find her hard-made, muscular from frequent forays into the sea. where he was steel with mountainbuilt stature, she was sinewy, fast, taking his strikes and adding snaps of her own.
his blows rained harder; she felt herself crowded; his breath hot upon the side of her throat. the advantageous whiplash of her body sent her down at last, cornered below his chest.
but the emerald eyes snapped in fearlessness as she watched upward, teeth showing once more that she would continue their struggle until he truly mollified her ardent wrath.

His previous forays in to pleasure had been utterly unlike this. He had not had to fight the woman so heartily, nor been met with such resistance. It wasn't true resistance either; he could see in the way her body bent or her blows glanced, even in the way she stared him down, there was a want there. She could have taken off at any point and been free of him, and didn't.

That stare agitated him and Tulimaq could not help how rough he grew with her. Bruises would be the least of her concern as he grew impatient, and further demanding, and let his physicality speak for him; it was the way of Tartok and it was his way, within his blood. Her children would carry his strength — of that he was certain.

Cornered — he loomed, rumbling like an avalanche ready to overwhelm the flame of her body. Tulimaq was worked up enough that he might strive to take what was owed him, now that she could be pinned. He held off only long enough to stare her down.

her growls became soft yelps, soft cries that twisted back into snarling; she flashed and scintillated below him, even as he opened a rivulet of blood along each of her shoulders.
panting, she met the strained rein of his implacably volcanic stare; a grin cut darkly along the edge of her jaw and she lifted her shaking body deliberately, tongue lolling.
she faced into the brimming light of pouring morning; she sent a glinting look along her ruddy shoulder and paraded backward into the hard metal circlet of his arms.

Riled as he was, Tulimaq saw the prize and gave in immediately, grabbing at her and pulling her tightly into an embrace that was almost unkind. It did not take long at all for him to be fulfilled, yet he would not give up on something that took such effort to obtain — if she wanted to be rid of him, it was too late.

---

When finally he would let her go, Tulimaq knew he could not go anywhere. He was exhausted beyond measure, between the chase and the fight, and the hours of enjoyment that he had eked out of the girl; he could barely feel his legs, and held a great need for water.

was this how all women felt in their times? the stranger continued his hard onslaught against her body, and she felt herself ground to nothing against the unyielding cold stone, the scent of ice and his body and her own hoarse laughter, sundering —

***

he left her in delightful shambles; a sliver of green watched him. mireille summoned her energy; she built it upon the sweet ache for something more he had left behind, and twisted sharply into a lunge that took all her blossomed strength and the ability of her tremulous legs.
she wanted to drive him away; to let him see her fury through his depletion. and now it was not in desire, but protectiveness. she weaponized her youth and wielded it a second time, a hammer.

Her youth was a blessing to her.

While he lay recovering against the earth she was on her feet, fighting against herself as much as against him, to turn and to snap and to dissuade him from lingering; and he was half-asleep, groggy, and slow to react at first.

He flashed his teeth and got to his feet, bow-legged, his limp more prevalent; but with more insistence from the woman Tulimaq knew to draw up the last of his strength and go.

He'd gotten what he'd been after - and so had she, he believed.

mwah amazing as usual <3

mireille was elated, encouraged, empowered to see him go. she decided to assume it was their fight that had ended with his limp, his slowness.
her nostrils flared; she was pleased by the mingling of their scents on her body, that she had fulfilled her goal of driving off the man.
and the others to come.
the air flowing over duskfire cleansed her, turned her fragrance potent, and in this aura, mireille descended the glacier and went on with her intentions.