Blackfeather Woods [m] Gonna raise some sand in the dead o' night

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: violence/blood/gore/generally fuckedupness neither writers condone irl

@Legend

---

Appearing in the hoary wood over the disquieted dry squelch of leaves and scurry of little creatures who dread this wolven form, he raises his voice in a song for one set of horned ears, if it is here she remains.

Come home to me, Little Raven.

On time, she said.

Not late, she said.

So, when he called her himself, her clock had changed.

Something different happened. To him, she planned to come in time, somewhere throughout the day, yet it had been him who called her?

 

She came. Not excitedly, but she came. Fine then! Legend go to Seth! Still, as she approached, she spotted that shift in scent. This had not been the path he'd taken in the morning. How she knew that? Because she'd tailed behind, kept track of it loosely, and departed to do her own biddings off trail. 

Coming into his line of sight, she offered him the view of her flank, be it on purpose for respect or out of curious caution with a hard smile on her face.

So quietly, so diligently,
she simply manifests in the space between two breaths.

Always faithful.

Wordlessly he studies her- that fleshy little body hovering over wiry limbs, eyes as two silver mirrors capturing his silhouette to show it back to him.

Between them is unnerving stillness. There is no banter, no commonplace theatrics.

“You will do anything for me,” his voice rings. Not a question, not a command.

An oath spoken.

He who sows the wind will harvest the storm.

He summoned her by his own will.

It wasn't alone that he took God into his mouth on that long, wistful night.

It was on this one The Becoming expected it from her.

Do not bow, he told her. 

Then why did she feel so terribly weak right now? It had been careless that she did so before, packed with little truth and little emotion apart from being before him. So, why now, she wondered, did she feel differently. Legend was no longer feeling those words be true in her stomach, and should they be in there, they were churning. They were nauseating.

Her legs did not give in, but her head did, low with her ears pinned back on her skull.  She saw the eyes of trust, thinking daintily over his statement. Oh, she would do anything for Seth when he had served her so useful. A crooked, and not in physicality, smile rested on her lips. That feeling of being game started to infest her mind, and she looked up to it with fluttering eyes and patience. With comfort to his warm hues of sun.

"Yes."

“Hold still.”

He Lunges.

To take up her collar in his mouth. A crest adorned with his bite. Velvety fur and malleable skin taut under his strike. Her body reacting beneath the force of his sway, splintering vulnerable flesh. He wraps himself over her, leg to leg, arch of spine beneath fervently pulsating chest. Cradling. Venerating. Fragmenting.

What a pretty song he called her with.

Trust. The epitome of life.

It was then trust that put his teeth upon her throat. It was trust, she believed, she knew, that allowed her shaken mind to be toppled. It was trust that death now not only breathed into her lungs but engulfed them with. Black, disgusting soot as red clouded her vision and church bells rang for broken flesh. She found her lungs emptying, and the open air welcomed what she released. 

What a lovely embrace.

With her head lifted towards the sky, crimson thundered in the sky as he forced a flash out of her life. Nearly gurgling pain, heightened by the expectancy of wrong before he'd pierced her skin and held her there with the sky seizing in her vision. The only soothe she'd find would be his stomach, and her suffocating lungs slowly choosing to inhale again.

I am alive. Is this what it feels like? For my baren mind to drown, and to smell my own iron dripping by another, to show me I can have life? 

Together they sink in a berth laid with silt. Their senses rhyme, breaths are coupled. His raven yields gently between his teeth, giving all of herself, body and mind.

There is devotion in this exchange that locks them- not a penance but a transformation. To give willingly one’s pain for the will of the gods.  This is prayer. He is blessed to be her docent.

At last he releases her from his hold, teeth sweetly slick with ichor that streaks between lips when he draws a deep and ragged breath against the curve of her back, Keeping her close within his embrace while he composes himself. Lightly he draws his crown along her spine, feeling the strength of her body in its devotion.

He parts them, drawing space for her to rise, though she is not likely to.

“You were attacked. Hunting mishap. There is a Lake Pack that may offer medical aid. Find the desert girl named Nazli. Lead her to me. I will be close.”

He watches her return from wherever it is she has gone in her mind, fluttering back to meet him, and awaiting her questions through quickened breaths.

Far, far away would her mind wander. To somewhere safe. Somewhere where she could fall into a pit of bodies littered across the floor, where she could form bond with them. Where she could now connect as a mortal walking the earth, dripping of a scent that screamed of death, because Death had not only put a mark on her throat, but should he have bit harder, and should he have shaken, should he have truly tried, he would allow a true dead god to meet her. Upon his initial jump, she'd truthfully cried and yelped far before his teeth had actually landed.

Burn the world with water.

Drown the world in smoke.

The air she'd gained back released as gunpowder once he released her skin. Breathe. A grisly sight. A once still, trusting body now trembling and burning hot with blood seeping into her fur, down her skin, flesh punctured and torn apart. Would it kill her? No, but the pain inflicted there perhaps might make her wish it throughout the day. 

Only for her to not fall by the end of it, but instead to turn to him, joyous and anew smile on her maw, her head rubbing against the front of his chest, under his head, her side moving all the way through until his fur had pet all of it Coming to a sit at his front, her head lifted to lean into the crook of his neck, close to his shoulder, where it was there she was deciding between collapsing in agony or not at the near mauling.

"Yeah!" had been her next excited statement, far more enthused than the last. Well, he had her attention. "Bring ya a woman! Is that it?" She found herself immediately laughing, taunting the idea and having fun with the notion of fetching him a prospect, long knowing he likely did not mean so. She didn't care. She cared about laughing at it, at him in the eyes, while she immediately scoured through her mission.

Beneath him she writhes, in pain or rapture, he knows it is both. Her face he’ll watch intently but her body tells him all she needs to in her turn sweetly slow. Acceptance.

For their's is a practiced dance. 

He runs his tongue along the tips of his teeth, tasting her oblation. “Your sacrifice is for the gods, Little Raven. They will see fit to reward you,” a pause, “and so will I.”

Maroon is the stole against her smoke. He takes this in before she gathers herself to speak. Whatever complexity that existed only moments before passes quickly from her face, which brightens now in renewed purpose.

“With my own eyes I must see her.”

All she could do was laugh about it. In the end, regardless of what happened, regardless of what he thought, regardless of what she thought, she couldn't stop herself from the amusement boiling up from her throat. Her head reared back, and they were, oh, so dry, foul, and nearly mocking in nature. Mocking of Seth? Perhaps in some ways, but most of all, to put at the top of this moment, she laughed that it even happened as an expression of her pure ecstasy. 

Fine then! He wanted, then he would receive! At every cost that came up that he was willing to go through with sent her into a hysterical giggling frenzy. One might have called it manic, but it was almost aggressive. As if she was, and because she was, laughing at the shock of it. Shock, however, she wished to see more of, all the while her body cried red onto the ground and her eyes showed joy. A show! Show! She liked shows. He'd need to show her more of them again! Rubbing her neck roughly against his own, because she wanted to, and because she desired the thrill of it, she withheld a high, desirous, messy smile.

"I can bring. I can try. You will be here?" Lifting her nose, she inhaled his scent again, to get the vague scent of other wolves picked off of him. Pry? No, but she would ask what she thought of, and how he answered was on him. Speak. Speak more. "And what of Seth then? He wouldn't put me on a time crunch, would he?" she pouted her lip, trying to sway his answer in her favor shamelessly.

so sorry for the shrimpy replies, I owe you better when I get back <33

---

His raven: half child, half dangerous, all a little mad.

“One week."

Into her brush he whispers, lips settling over mattes of red fur and his tongue grazing the torn skin he found there, a taste awakening appetites.

“Tread covertly, Little Raven,” comes his instruction swaddled with blood. Her vigilance he need not ask for. He knows she will play the part. “In the shadow of the Eagle mountain, I await you.”

I've been loving this! Don't worry about it at all [:

"You're leaving me?" 

He would leave her? Right now? 

With nearly dead eyes and a half pout on her lip, her brows lifted and twisted while she brushed her neck up into his tongue. Firmer, so she could feel his saliva on her skin and the gentle stroke of grooming amongst a much sharper, aching pain. How soothing that was, and how numbing to muscles that had once been torn at. 

Eye contact was given, but not for any sinless reason other than to tell him to stay. To entice him not to leave. No, she wanted him to stay with her. He'd stay with her, wouldn't he?

On such a supplicant delivery she lulls her song, spinning it for his ears. Arched against his chest still so he may feel each inquest made, like a plumed bird beating her wings at the cage that was his body. His muscles will tense, lips still tracing unearthed and endurable pain along her skin. There is a natural desire to take what is given to him in the months of spring; to inhabit her, spurred more so by blood in the air, and how simple it would be to do so. A different sort of rush than flesh between teeth, teasing all the same.

He will shift from her.

Elsewhere there is vision, and promise. And she does not yet know it, but for her in kind. He will see to this, should they find success at the shores of the lake pack.

“I am not so demure, raven,” His mouth opens to grin, “I am threat to foreigners. This I entrust to you.”

The beast moves! Taken from grooming her and mightily carrying light feet across scorching ground! Hot, hot, hot! Her ears burned! Her neck burned. She burned now, and the shadow of a great titan retreated. What tragedy! Shame! Shameful, terrible, awful behavior. Why, father moon cried in his beckoning and distance. How dare he!

She froze, stiffening her legs and leaning towards his leave before quickly shifting farther away from him. She stared, head half tilted and a still smile on her face. "Yes? Trust I keep." 

His fur was cloaked in moon. In their ritual, to her, he was calling her to tear his flesh open. She stayed sitting.

He smiles for her loyalty and eagerness, the soul of a sunless bird come back to the surface of the earth because she is still hungry and wanting for more. Her fringed black shawl lifting to breezes, blood leaking from the bite at the base of her skull. Harmless little thing. She is ready.

With a silken voice he bids her to, “fly.”

This? This hurts her! She does not like this! She finds pain in this! He's going to leave her alone after allowing her the feel of fleeting comfort? After caressing her aching skin with his tongue? It didn't ache because he tore it with his mouth, it ached because he left it alone! This was her reward? And so, she tried to tempt him to stay for reasons no more than grooming amongst the ground and taking warmth in basic touch, to receive that same feeling of connection again, and he retreated! What was this? She despised this game! So, she fixed herself up more, visibly pouting and whipping her head slightly over to let him know her distaste in his neglectful behavior! 

Though, straighten up she would. Fine! She could play games, because excitingly, she knew that he was opening up a new one for her. She knew because the scent of her blood on his teeth told her so. Then she would play with the pieces he gave her. Gentle. What a gentle god he would become.

With a low head and shown flank, she paced in front of him with that sick smile on her face paired with pinned, fixated doe eyes. An airy whine pushed from her open lips, and it came out in trailed crossing into a laugh. With his mark on her throat weeping on her skin, forcing her to gently cry out in pathetic little dainty whines, she left him. She could not wait for what was next. This was thrilling!