Greatwater Lake maun

maybe greatwater wolves? backdated 4/19

the goufa was making it more known how separate they were becoming, spindling threads coming undone, a cold strip of ground growing between them when they would sleep, her hot flashes of palpable frustration and anger (with no stalker to project onto) was projectably flung in every which way instead.

her head spun in a blinded dervish, only standing still when the metal taste on her lips brought her back to everything physical.

she smelled others here. @Polar would tell her to not be so unresponsible with her life. what life did she have, a pantomime commander? she trudged on in defiance of every natural alarm in her anatomy.

his doppelganger walks towards the lake.

she is cast in darker shades, yet she bears the same severe build, her tail shorn to a few brutal inches.

kaxwaan recognises the old, base magic of an encounter with one's lookalike. and faced with the perverse echo of such folklore, he knows it must be destroyed.

he turns the full lighthouse lens of his hateful gaze onto her, his hackles rippling in warning.

this brumal gargoyle swoops down from his rest; blunted at all conceivable corners.

he wishes to warn her, a perhaps hurt. but she was angry. illogical and very, very angry, and fastened by warriors of the mind.

no teeth against her would prosper, again, she promised herself, and wields her body as if reenacting odysseus and polyphemus' darkest moments.

Minor pp. Please let me know if this is fine -- if not, I'll edit!

Usually it is he who grasps for the first blow, but this time he does not have to wait, and he is glad for her furious initiative.

One oily eye appraises her with new interest until her jaws close over his own, and pain lances through his skull like iron bolts. The iceman bellows. Drops of blood stand out vibrant against his pale face.

His peeled lips reveal sclerotic gums and a row of teeth, each one of them a terrible awl. He pushes back with his hindquarters, his face burrowing into the softer skin at her collarbone.

he fingers thumb the thread, she's out of practice.
she swallows as the air meets her dry throat, the smell of a person not of her lands permeates her tongue. she tries to spit the feeling of it quickly, before her opponent retaliates, noticeable clefts with meaty pauses inbetween, following where kaxwaan's teeth had inoculated his own blood and spit.
she let out a pitchy yell.
she bucked herself to the left to wrestle him down, better yet suffocate him, hoping the frenzy wouldn't devolve into a unanticipated roll she ended up at the bottom of.

He tastes her blood. Like the blood of anyone else. His stomach clenches at the metallic flavor, the warmth, ready to receive it as it has done a hundred, a thousand times before.

His body reacts in the usual way, first the dilation of every vessel, of every vein and artery. With it, the thunderclap beat of his heart.

She lunges to the ground, with his head tucked under her chin. He fails to extricate himself in time, ends up with his face pressed between her shoulder and the dirt.

Still, he thrashes like a serpent possessed, gouging out great handfuls of grass.