Swiftcurrent Creek the aftermath

He sought her out now—for as much time as they had spent in the final moments of her season, the she-wolf had become a shadow to him now. Her scent cloying—there—but she remained unseen by him.

So with a pheasant gripped in his muzzle, the wolf stalked with purpose now, trailing @Jakoul. A mystery to him, it seemed she might remain so, but at the very least, he needed to ensure she was well—if not happy.

Flurries danced the air—and when the snow melted to spring, it was likely the creek would see new life. It was a sobering thought.

He had gone somewhere, and she had not understood why.

But it was well enough. She busied herself with preparations and cursed the ground for its still often frozen state. It was a good, welcomed, distraction.

She had a feeling, but it was yet to be certain.

So he would find her, front half down in the frozen den she had managed to create.

Lissome—thin, she worked at the frozen ground, rump hovering the air, a pleasant sight for the man despite his misgivings. A dry lump formed in his throat, the bird only encouraging him to gag at that moment, though he held back—she prepared as she-wolves did when their nature drove them to do so for their littles, and taking this as confirmation, the man would begin forward, crooning softly to her, coaxing her from her current task.

Dropping the prey, he would nose it to her, muzzle lifting then to sniff over her, ensuring all delicate hairs upon her cherished head were just in place before he would sidle forward, looking to pick up the task she had been doing while she ate, if she so pleased.

She spun!

A willowy thing that turned on heels with a radiant look. He had come back! Not that she, ah, thought he'd abandon the whole of the Creek but... Well, she was a woman with issues.

Yet she did not wish to send him to work at once while she gluttoned!

She crooned for him to join her, to take this moment and rest with a meal. Her tail began a quickening rhythm behind her.

She coaxed him—beckoning him to her, but the man simply looked over his shoulder, mid-sweep of continuing her previous ministrations of digging a den, smirking as his eyes roved her. He chuffed softly, a gentle wink given before turning his attention back to his work—he would fatten her up for the pups, not allowing his mind to consider quite what he felt as he allowed instinct to take motion.

The discussion they should have still lingering in the air—and yet thoroughly ignored by the Mayfair, determined for the moment to simply be led by Jakoul and what she needed from him and the creek for this moment.

Look at him!

She watched him work, not prepared to argue over it. If he wished for her to glutton then she would. A proper reunion of sorts could wait.

The feathers of the pheasant would soon be spread out before her and yet something in her brain told her to keep them. So she whuffed softly to him.

A gesture of her muzzle between the feathers and the den they worked upon. What did he think? A chance to begin some soft bedding.

It was a quiet companionship for the moment—something Akavir could appreciate, given he found himself less of a conversationalist than he used to be in his more youthful days. She called to him softly again after moments, and looking back once more, he noted with instinctual pleasure that she was indeed eating—the feathers of the bird scattered before her.

His eyes followed her gesture—his brows arching. Pulling back from the beginning of what he hoped would be a cozy den for her, the dark wolf stalked carefully to her, eyes drifting from the myriad of feathers to study her features, his muzzle tipping down to gently graze at her cheek. “Whatever you wish for you and them, I’ll do my best,” he offered in turn—if she wanted the softest of beds to rest upon, he would find a way to do so.

This was why she had picked him.

She did not yearn to romance him and lull him into something whimsical. Even if often times his care felt borderline whimsical. He was a provider, a strength to her and the now (hopefully) growing life within. She cannot deny it.

Hunt. She offered softly. Hunt. Together. Furs.

Her tail thumped upon the earth and she reached for his tufts of black and silver with needy teeth.

Just assuming Arric had done a lot of this with her, given their thread. Can change if the assumption is wrong! <3

She preened at him—the grazing touch he offered coaxing her for more intimate gestures and he chuffed softly, allowing himself to indulge the same as his nose burrowed further to the delicious scent of her—fur, and something else—her pregnancy, perhaps?

He would have to steel himself.

“Hunt,” he agreed—she wanted furs for her den. Something soft, and so with one more nip that  lingered dangerously close to something more lustful, the man pulled away, eyes trailing from her to their surroundings, nose to the air as he considered. “Now, or want me to finish this?” He motioned to the den started—a great deal already done, the lingering scent of Arric drawing his curiosity.

all good! :D <3

There was a temptation to attempt to grapple him to the earth!

One she held back by only a thread. The hunt would be a welcome distraction. Love lust could be exchanged for bloodlust upon a beast instead.

Now. She decided with a decisive nod. If all was well and true, she might soon be too fat for better hunts — or too burdened by other things. There is a panic in that alone. Becoming a special kind of burden!

A thought to shake away.

She moved to intentionally bump her shoulder and bring it along his side, before she started off. Content to follow the river upstream where it may branch further into promising hunting territory.

Her body brushed along his shoulder—her intention innocent enough, and yet searing him, his hungry eyes following after her as she shot forward. He allowed her to lead, taking pleasure in the sight from behind—words and thoughts he would keep to himself.

Still, she was keen on this, and so he settled to the task at hand, his own pawsteps crunching along quietly in the snow close to her, nose dipping to the ground every so often. The softest of pelts—he would have to make a note to Arric or the others to request these be saved if possible.

Yet while he was intent on providing, he also felt she needed this more than the pelt—and allowed Jakoul to take the lead on their hunt, following after her.

Of course it felt wonderful to lead. To take charge on this one thing as if she was the tip of a spear.

The scent of a fox twisted along a hollow log and she could not help but wonder if it was still here somewhere. The pelt would not be big enough by any means! Yet it would be nice, a comfortable addition alongside the pheasant feather's he had provided.

Her still (for now) sleek form lowered to become more akin to a torpedo.

Silently her body language bid him to follow in this too. A gesture for him to take the other side of the log in preparation. In case anything may be spooked out!

In her element, it seemed—a creature that didn’t speak much, and yet Akavir was keen on knowing more of her. Aside from the fact she carried his children—a thought he had yet to determine how he felt or what he would do—she intrigued him. Subtle, soft, and alluring.

She bid him to follow her movement and he complied—stocky form dipping lower to the frozen earth, a nip given to her hock playfully before he ducked away, skirting away, eyes now fast upon the fox she had targeted. It wasn’t usually his chosen prey—and yet he knew she did not necessarily seek it for the meat it offered—the red fur would be downy. Soft.

A cloud for her to nest upon and to deliver the future of the creek.

Something shifted with a chittering unease within. Aware that somethings bigger and badder had come for it.

Jakoul trusted and favored the man who had nipped along the short fur of her hip. She trusted that he was prepared for her to send the nervous creature out in full! So with a grace of an unholy beast, she raised noises and slammed into the log with a ferocity.

Now came his part to trap it with strong jaws! She only hoped he proved as strong as he looked — ah.

She slammed the log—fierce in her motion, inciting his excitement and he drew further, the thumping within the log driving him toward the noise and chosen exit of their captive.

It didn’t stand much of a chance—for as much as Akavir would have to guess which direction it’s chosen escape would be, he was swift, jaws clipping to red fur and pulling it back, swinging it toward the creek’s huntress, ensuring that the loose grip he had on it would be made up with her own firm jaws—a pleasure in knowing they could be in tune and she would align not just the hint but the prey’s final swift ending moments. It would do no good for the critter to suffer—as all would hope to have a quick finality in their lives.

Her short fur flared as much as it could with her excitement.

Between two sets of dark jaws, the fox would not suffer long. Nor did it need to! She needed the fur and skin upon it as pristine as could be managed. Puncture wounds upon its neck were to be expected, but she had no want to take a tail or whole limb!

The incessant screeching would end nearly as quick as it had began.

It would leave the two of them in a wake of electric, buzzing silence.

Her jaws clamped to the throat and the scream of the creature was silenced—a harsh moment in the heart of the wild and thrilling all the same. He crooned, his tongue sweeping over his jaws as he moved toward her, pressing himself against her as his nose swept across her cheek in pride and contentment. A worthy hunter who would teach her children—their children?—well.

The creek’s children.

His croon a rumble, his teeth casting a flashing nip with more pressure to her shoulder, desiring her, enraptured by her presence. “We will line your den with many of them,” he promised, eyes sweeping back toward her striking features to study her.