Packin Heat {Any}

[Toli]

Deep in autumn as it was, he could nearly taste the heat; salty, like sweat. Even the shade of the jungle was sweltering. A stench like baking flesh marked a rotting corpse somewhere nearby. The canopy was riddled with holes in some places, mercilessly firing beams of sunlight through to the floor. Bullets of pure fire pelted his back as he passed through them. His coat flared with color in the flashes of the sun's ammunition. Red-gold it was, like a proud lion's coat warmed by the sunset. King of the jungle.
But he was no king.

Ainlif stepped carefully to avoid the jungle debris. Some fall prey to the land and die slow deaths with a limb lodged in roots. The scorching heat made him weary and distracted. The crunching below his feet was the only thing dragging his mind back to the present when it wandered. Soon winter would come, but not soon enough.

There was water close. He could almost remember it from before; a time when his mate and daughter were still alive. Like a slideshow, he could see his sweet little filly playing, leaping--
Crunch.
Focus, fool. Stay present. The past has passed..
Even the slightest touch on these thoughts shot a bolt of ice through his heart. If only the blasted heat could melt that.

Finally, a familiar cluster of trees and brush caught his eye and he paused. Easily remembered by a large thick wood overshadowing a smaller tree. It was as if the small had never fully grown.. Stay in the present. At one time it had been struck by lightning, despite the stronger tree being so close, and was split in twain. Ainlif looked away. The drink should be near.

He strode a few paces away, keeping the memorable trees on his left.  Not a drop in sight.  It should have been here. Had he really kept away from this place so long? Too many memories.  There was still plenty of moisture in the air, and it smelled of damp soil.  Walking to the deepest part of the drinking pool in his memory, he pawed at the earth with his hoof, desperate to wet his tongue. It used to be here. She used to be here. She loved to kick and splash through it.

Sadness pierced his heart again. He had to quit thinking of them. It had been far long enough to have moved on by now. When his attempts at depressing water from the soil failed, he lowered his body and rolled his back and side in it. At least the dampness would help cool him. Debris, bark, and mud clung to his dark mane, but he never was the type to fuss over appearances. He preferred to keep to himself, anyway. He heaved a deep sigh. Just for a moment, before he moved on from here, he closed his eyes to rest.

[Lagertha]

I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF

Any stallion who purposefully trespasses into the hot and heavy kingdom is either looking for trouble or fleeing from it. Regardless of his reasons, an uninvited guest in her home deserves - no, demands - immediate attention. His smell instigates an almost primal reaction in the Warrior Queen, though she has never met the man before. Call it a much needed release, call it hormonal, call it whatever you will, because Lagertha needs an excuse to unleash her pent-up frustration. A growl starts in the back of her throat, surging into the rest of her body. She stops whatever she’s doing and pivots, weaving her way along the trails she knows like the inside of her eyelids.

Not even at the border, but inside the kingdom. Lagertha dons her armor, spreading a thin, malleable coat of iron across her skin in patches that protect her outer edges and most vulnerable bits. Clods of earth and clipped pieces of vegetation fly out behind her, as she cries out a challenge to the stallion. And he had better answer, oh, he had better answer, and quickly.

She had sworn several times before that she would run a trespasser through with her spikes if given half the chance (or provocation). That oath still stands. Lagertha rounds a bend in the trail, knowing she’s close to a dried-up pond (Prague’s magic had tampered with some of the naturally formed bodies of water). Too bad it wasn’t the river, she could force him into the mouths of crocodiles that way. And then there he is, and she issues a wordless challenge again, still barreling towards him.

Lagertha

Warrior Queen of the Amazons

[Toli]

A ghostly image of his daughter danced before him as he lay in the mud, splashing happily in water that was no longer there. He had allowed his mind to succumb to the effects of the blazing heat. It was a nice recess from reality. Here in his mind he could see them again. It was odd, though, that he always thought of his child, but not his mate. He had loved them both. He missed them both. Perhaps it was the guilt. She never got to live her life, and it was his fault. He should've been there to protect her, one too little to protect herself.

A scream of challenge rippled through his reverie. It sounded distant, but further than it should have been. He slowly raised himself from the ground. His thoughts and movements were clumsy as if he were drugged. Ainlif frowned. He shouldn't have gone that deep, anything could have happened to him and he wouldn't have been able to react in time. It felt like being jolted out of a deep meditation, and his mind hadn't had the time to reawaken properly. He sought the imagined ghost of his daughter as his mind struggled to focus. She was frozen in movement, like a still image. Her pose was still joyful, but her face had warped to pure terror. Then she vanished. She had probably looked that way when she died without him there to fight for her.

Like a dash of cold water, the fog in his mind was cleansed. He was renewed. Ainlif shook his coat, slinging muddy bullets at the trees. He battled a burning rage growing within him. His eyes burned with the heat of it. His rage was with himself, he knew, and not with whoever would come at him through the trees. He had to get it under control or he would do something he could never take back.

He glanced at his shoulder. Half covered in slick mud, the tail-end of a koi fish showed through in white ink. Hidden underneath the muck, a second koi danced. They symbolized his parents, his heritage. Something he wasn't always happy to be reminded about. His father, a king, had nothing to do with him. His Amazon mother raised him alone. He had earned his tattoo as a Brother, and by now would be a vichomeraki. For a time, he had begun a herd with his mate and daughter, but it wasn't long before they were killed while he was away. This was the only place he belonged now. He lost his family, his heart, and possibly his mind, but he wouldn't lose his home. He would accept this challenger and show them why he was granted his place in the Amazon.

Ainlif thumped the ground hard, trying to relieve the building tension in his body. His chest still burned with anger and resentment. He was ready. Another battle-call shot at him, much closer now, instantly fueling the flames in his heart. It was distinctly female, which was not at all surprising. These lands had always been nearly exclusively female. And they were all prepared to battle males when it became necessary. It had a thunder of authority to it though, an undertone of power, and he knew this was one he could not battle without truly dire consequences. The leader herself was personally calling this challenge. Fighting her would either cost his life or come with far more responsibility than he ever wanted. Neither option sounded at all appealing.

She burst through the trees, her coat glinting with a protective armor, and bold determination in her fierce eyes. He roared in frustration, trying to expel the wild scorching wrath that wanted so badly to be set free. Ainlif angled his body, positioning his tattoo directly in her path like a shield. Still splashed with mud, it was the only thing he had left, his badge of oath to the Amazons.

"My HOME!" he bellowed. His voice sounded foreign to him, like it belonged to someone else. It had been unused in his self-condemned isolation while he mourned the loss of his family. But he was home now, and it was a new beginning for him. All he could do now was see if she would force him to fight, and risk losing his life, or his grip on the slippery control of his inner rage.



(OOC: So sorry this is so late! My summer classes have kept me busier than I expected! Also, that turned out far longer than I meant it to be, sorry!)