It was lust that first led Vyx to the Jungle, a writhing yearn that was as new and peculiar to her as the Jungle would be. Borne from naught more than stolen glances and quickened breaths, Vyx’s lonely and daring heart was more than stirred to follow the iron mare to wherever it was she called home. Distracted and beguiled along the way, once she was firmly in the sultry depths of the Jungle’s embrace – she was ensnared. Every curve of a palm frond was a cradle for her, every cluster of mangrove roots was a den, every howl of a new monkey or shriek of a parrot was another opportunity for her tongue to savor a new taste. Chameleons are not even half as tasty as python eggs and Toucans bite twice as hard as you’d think they would, trust me.
Vyx had padded through the Jungle for months on end without ever changing form, only when faced with something truly outsizing her did she shift into the delicate black mare whose mane and tail were far too outrageously colored for her liking. She was able to feed her introversion here, here she was able to dive into the depths and forget the forever echo of loneliness that beat in her chest. Here she could be no one, a shadow amongst the soil, a rustle amongst the palms. But when the call comes, when she calls, Vyx is goaded from the tangle of the Jungle like a snake to a promised warm stone and a hard sun. I’m coming, I’m coming, I hope you haven’t forgotten me.
As she drew up on the edge of the gathering, her breath is caught and held for a moment in mix of admiration and confusion. Her furred black chest heaves with elation as the scene unfolds and understanding flushes her body with an urgency to move, to touch, to breathe in her new queen (well, the only one she’d ever had as Vyx had never been sworn beneath Scorch). Quickly, the black fox slinks through the labyrinth of horse legs to make her way to the front of the gathering, yipping excitedly to her lion-mare friend. Rash and unguarded, the fox leaps forward to weave around Lagertha’s front hooves, curling a black tail up the grey mare’s foreleg, “Khaleesi,” she coos. Maybe, one day you'll be my Khaleesi…
Vyx had padded through the Jungle for months on end without ever changing form, only when faced with something truly outsizing her did she shift into the delicate black mare whose mane and tail were far too outrageously colored for her liking. She was able to feed her introversion here, here she was able to dive into the depths and forget the forever echo of loneliness that beat in her chest. Here she could be no one, a shadow amongst the soil, a rustle amongst the palms. But when the call comes, when she calls, Vyx is goaded from the tangle of the Jungle like a snake to a promised warm stone and a hard sun. I’m coming, I’m coming, I hope you haven’t forgotten me.
As she drew up on the edge of the gathering, her breath is caught and held for a moment in mix of admiration and confusion. Her furred black chest heaves with elation as the scene unfolds and understanding flushes her body with an urgency to move, to touch, to breathe in her new queen (well, the only one she’d ever had as Vyx had never been sworn beneath Scorch). Quickly, the black fox slinks through the labyrinth of horse legs to make her way to the front of the gathering, yipping excitedly to her lion-mare friend. Rash and unguarded, the fox leaps forward to weave around Lagertha’s front hooves, curling a black tail up the grey mare’s foreleg, “Khaleesi,” she coos. Maybe, one day you'll be my Khaleesi…