Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

PP, lemme know if not okay and I'll happily adjust!

Wren was increasingly becoming the bull of the china shop—each moment seemed to bolster her confidence with the stranger—and he had to refrain from reminding her that they were in the caverns of sandy hell—at the mercy of their current hosts.

A low rumble pressed at him—and as she whispered to him—low, or at least he felt low enough, but was that the effects of the fermented berries?—about how to truly treat a woman. “I intend to treat you exactly how any should treat a woman, little swan. By being a gentle man when we’re under the influence and taking you safely back to our room.” A whisper to her ear.

And then, a quick glance back over his shoulder to the man. “Thank you, Erpa-ha for your generous company,” he offered, and without waiting, the man swept himself low, throwing Wren over a bulky shoulder, despite her own height she was still leaner than him. And there, he would carry her back to their quarters.

And make good on his promise by tucking the rowdy she-wolf into bed, and allow her to sleep off the night and its indulgences.

last from me! this was so fun omg

She had rejected him merely weeks prior in the midst of her heat, and now he was returning the favor. Perhaps in the morning she would be thankful for it, but right now, it was a scorching slap to her face. Was she that offputting? Pah!
But— and she hadn't even had the time to finish drawling a retort before her feet were promptly lifted off the ground and her chest was pressed into a well-muscled shoulder. In her daze, her eyes unfocused; and after enough blinks, she realizes she's being carried. As if this could not possibly be any more humiliating.
She hadn't even the chance to send off the erpa-ha with a proper fuck you. She merely accepts her fate with a throaty grumble.

She's flopped onto a pile of plush fur in a darkened bedchamber, the throbbing sting of rejection burning low in her stomach. Not unlike a grumpy toddler, she turns her back to her knight in shining armor and balls herself up with her knees pressed to her chest. Quietly, she croons a demand to at least be held.
Not even five seconds later, she is sound asleep. In the morning with bloodshot eyes and a reeling head, she would make a silent promise to herself that what happens in the mesa, stays in the goddamn mesa.

amazing thread <3 <3 <3

in the morning, the fellahin would bring tale that the shadowdark taltos had not lingered in infamous ways near poor drunken swan.

senmut would find esteem in it, then send a request for tavina to prepare a calming tea for the woman and a broth besides.

he would be there to see them off after pressing another meal upon them, one with no berries present but slices of rabbit and fat mixed with honey.

germanicus was not mentioned. senmut shared their distaste for the man, though perhaps he would never know why.

it had been amusing to see the creek wolf carry swan away as if she were only a wayward bride, and a deeper part of his mind reflected on the honed muscles running the length of taltos' back.

something to recall in those few idle moments.