He knows he shouldn’t stray too far from the Meadow, lest his party return, only to discover his absence, but he cannot resist the urge to wander, at least for a while.

The skies are nearly as cloudy as his mind today, and for this reason, he opts to forgo his preferred method of travel. The scents of damp soil and mild decay weigh down the crisp morning air as he trudges over the leaf-strewn ground. The air itself nips at his skin and puffs of vapor swell and dissipate quickly with each breath he exhales. He looks up at the dark skies and rumbles a quiet dissent, for he would rather not be near others just now.

On its own, the earthiness of this time of year is not unwelcome, but when mingled with the unmistakable smell of breeding season, it is something he cannot quite bear. At least, not now. Every time he passes by a woman, she unwittingly sends out a plaintive appeal to his ignoble past, much like a bright light calling to the hapless moth. But at the heart of his displeasure is not the fact that such longing still lies beneath the still-thin veneer of the changes he has made.

No, it is the fact that there is still enough of his former self to want to submit, to give in to the craven desires, not for his own pleasure, but to spite her for what he viewed as her intractability. While Demise had been similarly headstrong as Adriana, the former had rarely fussed about a lack of fidelity, and when she did, he had always pulled another woman into his embrace just to stoke her anger.

But that was a different era with different expectations, and he has come to accept this, so that is why the surfacing of his old habits bothers him so.

He does his best to turn his thoughts elsewhere, but since he cannot seem to shake the traces of the kelpie girl from the webs of his mind, visions of a future in which Tephra has returned begin to form. He thinks of Savior, born to defend the land they seek to raise, and he wonders what his own role will come to be.

He is not sure that he could assume a similar post, as nothing in his life had ever required much protection beyond simple border patrolling. Yet, even if he had acquired any physical skill, how would that compare to the types of magic that run wild today? There had been a small taste of greater power when he’d been part of the group that had mended the Baltian/Stratosian rift, but that had faded once he had returned to Beqanna. He recalls the celestial images that Ryatah had painted to better illustrate her tales of the past; something tells him that her magic could do far more than produce pretty pictures.

On the other hand, how much of a diplomat could he be? When given the chance in the Baltian/Stratosian past, he had done little to inspire peace between the warring countries. Though it could be a more natural path for him, given his lack of offensive abilities; and learning peacemaking might be easier than throwing himself into innumerable skirmishes or even petitioning for new magic. He wonders briefly what kinds of defensive or pacifist abilities might also be out there, which leads him to also wonder about Famkee’s clairvoyance and how she might use that on either side of the fence.

While pondering all of these branches of magic, he cannot help but think of Adriana’s water wings and the frosted scales of her skin and a tongue of fiery hunger flares up so strongly that he can nearly feel the heat radiate from his chest. For a moment, he longs for a flame of his own, if only to melt his way through her icy exterior, but then perhaps to incinerate anything that threatens her well-being.

As this thought dawns, he realizes that maybe it is best that he has no potential for tangible destruction; he might not be able to control himself under certain circumstances. He then realizes that he has traveled much further than he intended to and that he is near enough to smell the ocean air once again. He stares out over the shimmering horizon, aware that he is still looking for her and, so infuriated that he is letting her consume him so completely, that he is of half a mind to abandon the quest for Tephra entirely.

But he knows he can’t, so he grinds his teeth in annoyance and wheels around so that he might head back to see if the others have gathered in the Meadow yet.

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber

A breeze abruptly throws itself at his back and the copper-tipped curtains of dark locks that cascade handsomely along the firm curve of his crest whip into a bit of a frenzy. He tries to let the air’s cool fingers soothe the burning sensation that threatens to rip his soul apart, but if anything, the renewed strength of the ocean’s scent only sets him on the verge of boiling again. He looks further along to where the Meadow lies, hoping the others are waiting for him, for he feels that, while they may not be the remedy for his ails, seeing them would at least give him the tools to reignite another kind of flame within him. The kind that is comforting and protective, rather the spiteful, consuming one that currently licks at his heels.

But he is not quick enough in beginning to move from the line where sand blends into soil and his nostrils flare as they pick up on something else in the breeze that still stirs around him. While anything remotely smelling of the ocean is enough to remind him of her, his nerves instantly fray as he picks up her true scent, which has been hiding beneath the salty notes that initially swatted at his nose.

Any steps that he had been about to take are forgotten as his emotions begin to churn even more violently than they were just a few minutes ago. He cannot tell how close she might be, but he cannot find her with a quick glance to the left and again to the right; she must be in the water behind him. That surprises him, as he would imagine it would be much more difficult to separate even the heady and intoxicating perfume of her body from such a substantial bouquet.

So, he convinces himself that he must be imagining things, that he has grown so desperate in his desire to end this find her, to touch her, that a psychosomatic effect has started to creep into his senses. He blows out a breath of enormous frustration as his mind decides to add insult to injury by conjuring her voice in his ear as well.

Wait.

Something is not quite right about this illusion, not quite right with the sound. Hardly daring to hope, he whirls back to face the ocean once more and there she stands, dripping water onto the already wet sand. He drinks in the sight of her, from the subtle way the water darkens her coat to the seashells knotted even more firmly into her mane, down to the softened set of her features. The crack of her voice seems to leap through the space between them, seeking to cleave through the hot anger and drive him into her embrace.

He knows that he should listen to the instinct, should let that bitterness melt away and speak the truths of his heart. He knows.

But he can’t, not yet. If only he had that true flame now. He could hand it over to her, let it eat away at her flesh just as the emotional ones have been doing to his mind over all of this time. Deep within himself, he knows that this is wrong, but if she could turn her back so easily once, what would prevent her from doing it again and again? The doubt lingers, attempting to wring every drop of passion from his heart so that it can better stoke the fire of his anger. He does not know what he needs from her to calm the inferno, but he knows that he cannot let himself fall at her feet, not yet. From the look in her eyes, he suspects she might not find any satisfaction in seeing him grovel before her, but she has enjoyed her little games before, so he covers her name in a thin layer of the same ice that she has been walling herself behind and a similarly fragile hardness settles in his eyes.

“Adriana…”

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber

Deep down, he is not a strong man and as such, his fortitude begins to falter almost immediately. He can appreciate the straightforward delivery of her apologies and the quiet in her voice brings out the forgiveness that he wildly wishes to envelop her in. But something still gives him pause.

That fear of the unknown that has plagued her has finally settled over him, and it is from this that his misgivings stem. It would be so easy, so natural to pull her to his side once more (and oh, how he wants to feel her again), but now he has seen how readily she lets her faith be swept away in the tides of her own insecurity. He has watched her walk away from him once and he is not sure that he will survive if there is a next time.

He knows that physically, he will go on; however, considering the changes that have occurred this time, he worries about the type of man he will become if she leaves him again. He doesn’t know how he has become so thoroughly tangled in the netting of her soul, but there is just a touch of resentment when he realizes it. He has never given this much control to anyone before and the oldest pieces of him want to break her hold on him. They want him to break her even more wholly than she has done to him.

But he can’t.

He does not say anything, but the severity of his expression lightens just enough to convey his acceptance. However, the restraint in her eyes does not go unnoticed. His initial interpretation is that though she is remorseful for her actions, she still will not let him tear down the barriers she has crafted around her heart. He feels that hot, bitter indignation rising in his throat again and it pushes him into action.

He is careful not to let any anger show as he decides to close the gap between them, to swiftly circle her, then press firmly against her side. The closeness of her body brings the scent of her into sharper focus, and he finds it intoxicating (for many reasons). For a moment, there is only the sound of his quiet but tortured breathing as he contemplates his next move. The demons he has been trying to smother feverishly beg him to revert to his old ways, to exhibit dominance in the best way he knows and likely light the fuse that would blow apart the fiasco they have created.

But he can’t.

A muted voice cuts through the din in his mind. It gently reminds him that she is young and even far less experienced than he in navigating these turbulent waters. It sends a wave of rationality to dampen the fires of his fury and he exhales heavily. “It seems we still have much to learn about each other,” he says in a raw, uneven tone. He pulls away from her to look upon her face, to take in the entirety of her.

The change is not instant, but affection slowly chips away at the iciness he had attempted to cover himself with. He remembers how their last night had begun, remembers his relief at seeing her approaching the lake, remembers the emotion that he had still refused to name. He knows what he should have said then, knows what he should say now.

“But what I have realized is that I want the chance to learn, that I need the chance..” As he loosens his grasp on his need for control, his eyes soften. He lifts his wing in a silent invitation to fall into his embrace once more, to feel the way his heartbeat quickens for her, to give him the opportunity to provide the reassurance she seeks. “And I know now that I need you.”

His mouth instinctively reaches for the golden velvet of her cheek, but he pauses in consideration and stretches upward instead. There, he does not quite touch her, gives her the chance to pull away, but not before he breathes his next words into her ear,

“Stay with me, always..”

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber

He is glad that he had decided to step away from her, glad that he could witness her reaction. The sight of tears coursing down her cheeks stirs a conflicting ache in his chest; at first, there is an overwhelming desire to reach the ends of the earth in an effort to stem their flow. On the other hand, he sees a raw vulnerability as they fall and he finds them, finds her, to be devastatingly beautiful.

Her apology is barely audible, but he shakes his head as it comes out. Then, it is nearly forgotten as she sinks into his offered embrace. A deep purr of satisfaction rumbles through his chest as he wraps his wing around her possessively. So great is his awe of the natural fit of their bodies pressed together, one might think that they’d never done this before.

Although, in a way, they haven’t. Before this moment, there had been so much nervous tension between them, every touch laden with hesitancy as they both tried to determine the depth of the other’s affection. Now, the electricity that sparks at the feel of her lips against his neck is magnified tenfold by the acceptance he has found in her remorseful eyes.

She steals the very breath from his lungs as she trails her kisses down to his chest and he instinctively turns to tuck the top of her head into the arch of his neck. Remembering her words, he huffs lightly; it is not to dismiss her apology entirely, but rather to convey his disapproval at her attempt to assume full blame for their separation. She may have been the one to walk away, but he was not without fault. He lifts his head to press his lips to the spot between her ears, where he nibbles at the red and gold hair as he murmurs softly, “I am sorry as well. I should have taken your concerns more seriously.”

The warmth she exhales onto his chest is comforting as is, but when she tells him that she needs him too, an entirely new sensation ignites and spreads through his body like wildfire. He recalls how he had been going back and forth on how he would manipulate flames if he could, on whether he would destroy or protect. For a terrifying moment, his anger had flared so high and hot that he’d toyed with the idea of using flames to give her a taste of the torment her desertion had given him.

But, now that he is here, clinging so desperately to the most precious thing in his world, he knows that even if they never crossed paths again, even if it meant eternity of nightmares after finding her with someone else, he cared too much to watch her go down in flames of his own creation. He would have destroyed himself if it meant shielding her from futher heartache. But he is thoroughly grateful that fate has given them another chance and if he could, he would use the fire in his chest to build a fortress that no harm could ever penetrate.

He believes her to be finished speaking and he is content to continue their embrace in silence, but then she whispers again into his chest. The warmth that had bloomed beneath her lips flares into an inferno and once again, he is acutely aware of the time of year. A shiver races the length of his spine, carrying the heat with it so that it can settle elsewhere.

But now is not the moment, so with great effort, he restrains himself yet again. He does not feel a need to put her through any paces to prove her loyalty, the fact that she is here, that she has faced her fear and expressed the truth in her heart. That is what he has needed all this time. He pulls away from her, his body shuddering at the loss of contact. He positions himself so that he is facing her now and he touches his nose to hers. He lingers there for a while, then slowly drags his lips along the curve of her mouth, then the side of her face until he eventually lays his cheek against hers.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. He is not sure that she still needs to know, but he decides to give her the comfort that he should have given her that night. “There has been no one since I first laid eyes on you. I am yours, only yours, for as long as you will have me.”

His mouth moves against her again, silently expressing his desire to know every inch of her, to show another side of his devotion to her. He can feel his willpower giving way to the wickedness rising within him, but still, he takes his time in grazing his teeth along her neck, over her shoulder, over the length of her spine. As he reaches the dock of her tail, he bites at her flesh more firmly than he had been. His breath falls heavily over her skin as he asks, “Why don’t you let me show you just how much I need you?”

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber

As she struggles against the thorns that give her reasons to hesitate, so he considers his own. Prior to that night in the Dale, he had been presumptuous in believing himself a wholly changed man. Yes, he has made considerable progress in accepting and adjusting to the unfamiliar expectations of the modern world, but he sees now that antiquated beliefs still linger beneath the surface.

Ultimately, he had let his anger simmer and threaten to boil over because he expected her to blindly and thoroughly submit to his will, though he had not given her any substantial reason to lay her faith in his hands. As in the past, he had expected compliance and devotion simply for being present, for giving her the time of day. And if that were not enough, he had even considered reverting to promiscuity as punishment for her fears.

He is a fool and now that he sees this, he vows to be more mindful of how he behaves, of how he speaks, and especially of how he reacts. He cannot afford to feed the roots of her insecurities, to let their thorns grow long enough to drive them apart again. But he knows that means he will have to whittle away at his own pride, and he also knows that will not be so easily accomplished.

But for her, he will try, so he says the words that allow her to see his heart, to snatch it from his chest and do as she pleases with it.

He relishes the comfort he finds even in the sound of her soft sigh, delights in the slow burn of noticing that she seems to crave his touch as much as he does hers. Then, she reveals the purity that she’s been masking with her coquetry and a low hiss of carnal greed rises in his throat as he realizes that he will be the first and the only one to have her. Though he seems patient in laying his kisses along her frosted flesh, the ancient creature that has always been coiled deep within him unfurls at long last. It claws at its bindings, howls for him to feed the hunger that has been gnawing at his belly, but he finds the strength to ignore the call, wanting to light up her every nerve, to know that she is utterly consumed by the scorching flames of lust that have already burned their way through him.

But then she backs into him, and in the sharpness of her gasp, he can hear the thick ice of her inhibitions cracking beneath the weight of their combined desire, just as he feels the frost of her scales melting in the heat of his breath. His touch instantly becomes more fevered, more urgent, as his mouth slips lower on her skin. His lips, his teeth, and his tongue are suddenly everywhere, memorizing the taste and feel of her as she shivers for him. In this moment, he discovers that he could spend the rest of eternity worshiping the curves he has long admired and still, he would feel as though he could never have enough of her.

The creature in him purrs in anticipation as he continues to lavish her flesh with his lascivious intentions, but when she gives her consent, it roars in triumph and his senses go hazy. He nips at the inside of her thighs, tugs at the strands of her tail a few times, then pushes his chest against her once more. He can feel the heat that radiates from her, and though he is grateful for the change from the hesitant coolness that he is used to, he does not let it distract him from completing the fluid motion of sliding his body over hers.

It has been a terribly long time since he last held a woman this way, but the instinct is still there as he seizes her withers with his teeth, using the grip to help settle into position. He then releases his hold, using his mouth to trace the underside of her jaw. His eyes close as he skims up the side of her face to breathe a husky whisper into her ear. “This,” he pauses to pull her closer, to press the evidence of his desire against her before he continues, “is only the first of the many ways I intend to prove just how much I love you..” He trails off into a groan as his hips surge forward to claim her body.

It had seemed natural and correct to stand with her wrapped protectively in his wing, but that pales in comparison to having her beneath him like this, so he takes his time to savor the feeling, to brand it permanently into his memory. Eventually though, fire sparks to life in his belly again and he begins to move, slowly at first, but gradually descending into a demanding rhythm that sends his teeth scraping needily at her shoulder. As he feels himself approaching the heights of their passion, he murmurs her name into her skin, begging her to spiral into that sweet oblivion with him.

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber