[mature] fire in her hands

[brunhilde]

and all the quiet nights you bear, seal them up with care
no one needs to know they’re there, for i will hold them for you

Sometimes Brunhilde wonders what she would have been like as man. Would she have been as handsome as she is beautiful? Would the vibrant sunset of her coat ripple the same way? Would women desire her butterflies, find her unique, long to gaze into her golden eyes? She wishes she wore the type of body that drew the eyes of women, not in jealousy but in desire. As she grows older, she finds she wants twine around feminine curves than she wants to rub against masculine ridges. Perhaps one day she will find a man with a gentle gaze and wayward swing of his hips, but she doubts it when she lives amongst wild and roguish men. At least, they are what fill her home. More delicate men may reside elsewhere.

The graceful flame chews on her options as she finally arrives at the river. Curiosity and boredom have drawn her out of Loess. The depressive funk she was in feels as if it is slipping away as the spring arrives, and Hildy steps into a new skin while the flowers attempt to bloom.

The snowmelt creates a raging river. Being a creature of fire, Brun his averse to the crashing rapids. She tucks the fire of her wings closer to her body, prancing anxiously along the shore. Some strange draw is begging her to take a step in, then another, and another, until she is nearly submerged in the chilly water. She wonders what it would feel like to have her wings doused, then shakes her head uncomfortably. Her fiery appendages are new, but they already fit well upon her back. The idea of losing them stresses her.

So, the woman stands upon the damp dirt and pebbles, shuffling every so often. She drops her muzzle to the water and sips, still debating if she should turn tail and run.

brunhilde

someone come bother my fire baby, also all of her threads with this html has to be tagged mature because bewbz