"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
I should but I don’t want to. Murmurs the little unicorn and Tunnel rumbles in approval before his teeth catch at her delicate jaw, holding her just long enough, his colorless eyes meeting her defiant golden ones with a severe and direct look. It’s a pleasure to take that kiss from her, to find her pliant under his lips and feel her skin turn to fire as she flushes and presses in with her own ferocity. Bardot’s blunt teeth catch at his lip when he withdraws and he very nearly comes back for more. He’s rarely bothered with things like kisses but Bardot is a woman that ought to have her mouth caught in a kiss, her lips bruised by teeth.
They embrace, his teeth cutting against her withers and tasting the sweat on her skin. She tastes like herself, not like flowers. He really does not care for the flowers, he likes things that a real, the ragged edge, blood, bone, and earth. Bardot’s heart hammers against Tunnel’s velveteen chest like a frantic caged thing. Turning his ears back to catch the sound of her gasp, the blue creature nips her shoulder hard to keep himself grounded here, and not take her right in the midst of the meadow like some kind of exhibitionist, with the sun beating down on their backs. It wouldn’t do, he is too greedy, too jealous to share the things he wants to do to her with anyone else.
I would see your forest. She murmurs these words against his neck and tugs at his tangled black mane eagerly, hard enough that it could even be a little bit desperation. The forceful lust that rolls through his massive frame in response to that needy gesture surprises Tunnel. “I’ll show you more than that, little unicorn.” Pivoting to press himself to her tawny side he tosses his massive head only to nip her smooth neck and urge her off in the direction of the forest. Somehow he knows she’ll run before him but he pushes her to as well, forcing her off in the direction of the river just enough paces ahead of him so that he can watch the way she moves over the earth. The ripple of her muscles beneath her golden skin.
At the river’s edge he bites her rump, urging her into the cold water and then joining her there. It’s a shock to his skin and he bullies his way through the current to shelter Bardot from its torrent and then guides her into the shaded shallows, grazing his lips against her throat latch and then bounding up onto the bank. Looking back down at Bardot he considers giving her one more chance to escape.. Only to wonder why? Why does he keep urging her to go? His countenance darkens a moment and then he snorts. “Come.”
Tunnel knows these parts of the forest inside out. He does not select a trail but pushes through the undergrowth, breaking trail for Bardot. The forest does not take long to grow gloomy, to turn cold in spite of the heat hanging over the rest of the common lands. The light is thready and dappled and he melts into the places between these fingers of light, his breath fogging in the eerie chill as he finds Bardot, sliding against her slowly and grooming her wet side as he goes. There’s a tenderness in the gesture as he leaves her to get her bearings in the cool darkness of his forest. Her flowers compete with the rich moldering of the deep leaf-litter but Tunnel is drinking in the scent of desire that clings to her skin instead. “Not very like your jungle, I expect?”
The whole meadow could be watching and she wouldn’t care, only wanting him to kiss her again until her lips are bruised and swollen from the roughness of his attention. Let the Beth’s & Jerry’s of the common lands stare and judge, let them side eye her and whisper. It matters little to her because she knows it comes from a place of envy, that the shame they throw now is something they will secretly long for at night in their dreams. Dreaming of themselves in the position she now finds herself in.
He nips her hard along her shoulder and she murmurs a wordless noise against the thick chorded muscles of his neck where she still lingers, the tangled threads of mane still pinched between her teeth as if she might be able to drag him beneath her the way she wishes she could do. She doesn’t care that the dust that cakes him rubs off on her, that she can taste the earth from his travel on her tongue. He is rough and calloused and everything that she had not realized she would find so appealing. A soft laugh escapes her as that delicious shiver returns with his hinted promises to show her many things and she certainly hopes he will keep it. There is a tone to his voice that grumbles with something less like thunder and it makes her insides curl with renewed wanting. He wastes no time pressing himself against her side and directing her towards the Forest and she willingly obeys.
She’s happy to be obedient for once as it will lead her to something that she wants. She realizes that this is perhaps the most reckless thing she has ever done, going home with a dark stranger she barely knows, but she doesn’t care. Nothing seems to matter but the thought of those promises that he had hinted at. She breaks into a gallop and hears him thundering behind her and the smile deepens on her lips. There is a sudden wild joy in the rich gold of her eyes as she kicks out her back legs and darts away from his snaps, making sure to throw her head over her shoulder as she runs so he can see the smoldering look within molten gold. He catches up enough to place a rather savage bite on her rump and she whips around to place a severe one of her own along the hard ridge of his shoulder, even as she backs herself into the river and feels the water washing away the sweat and sun of the meadow.
He was already intending on joining her here but with the way she backs into the shallows with that molten gaze, it almost seems as if she is luring him in. As if he is doing what she wants. As they move deeper he strides forward and she can’t help the small smile she gives, one that’s meant mostly for herself, when she notices how he moves his body to take the brunt of the current when they move a little deeper. Does he even realize this chivalrous act he’s done? She looks at him and wonders as her muzzle sweeps through the cool stream and then brushes along the parts of him that are still covered in dust, a cool kiss as his lips find her throat and she seems to purr like the jungle cat whose spots adorn her neck.
He bounds up on the bank and looks at her and there’s a moment where they both stand still. As if giving each other a chance to turn around and never look back. His look darkens and she tilts her head slightly as he speaks. Slowly she moves from the river and as she comes to stand before him she lets her teeth unhurriedly graze along his barrel. As if to confirm that there had never been any doubt in her mind to follow.
Once more he takes the brunt of the undergrowth for her and she acknowledges this with that small knowing smile. Memorizing and remembering. The air begins to grow colder the further they push in and her body shivers of its own accord, her damp fur starting to gooseflesh the further they go in. It becomes darker and she breathes it in, the dankness of the soil and the silence that some might find oppressive. Dappled light filters from the canopy above and catches slivers of blue amongst the black just as it illuminates the spots on her nape exactly as she knew it would. She follows him until they are most certainly alone and she presses her shivering body into the warmth of him, closing her eyes under the enjoyment of his tongue against her wet fur, the warmth that floods her from his breath and the stirring in her chest that reaches out for that unexpected tenderness he gives her. Storing that memory away too with a knowing heart.
When he speaks her eyes are still closed as she says, “No.” No it is not like her jungle which was humid and noisy. But the darkness here is similar to the darkness there and as her lids raise to reveal the brilliant amber beneath, they stare directly at him. “No, it is nothing like it. But it will do.” And with a sudden surge of confidence she winds herself beneath him so that her backside slides beneath his muzzle as she moves to his other side, leaving biting kisses in long trails along his indigo flesh as she slowly grazes the tip of her spiral once more along the highest point of his neck. Every inch of her body seems to tingle with her nerves as she wades into these unfamiliar waters with him but there is no fear to be found there, only a terrible excitement.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Much of Tunnel’s body is an inky blue, the river having soaked him through, water dripping from the feathering at his fetlocks and cording the ends of his mane. Returned to the cool dark of his forest and the clearings and mad labyrinths that he has haunted for years, it occurs to him just how long he has been away in the very deepest and most twisted parts of the forest. He has been here with many others, captives, thralls, and pets. There is something vastly different about having Bardot join him here, she is oddly fearless and he is absent the viciousness that he’s cowed so many others with. He would normally be bored by this, but he isn't, not as he leaves the marks of his attentions across her damp hide.
Bardot is chilled from their swim and perhaps from the strange cold of the forest. Tunnel may be a monster of malicious inclinations but he heeds the familiar grip of protective instinct, and presses himself nearer, his body radiating warmth in spite of the damp. Embracing her with a shuddering growl, his teeth graze over muscles that shiver against the drastically changed temperature. No it is probably not like a warm jungle at all, but she seems satisfied enough as she slides against his body, his lips graze the midline of her back as she goes and hover over the curve of her rump. Her attentiveness pleases the creature, and he watches her with keen grey eyes as she casually threatens his throat with her pretty spindled horn once more.
Tunnel turns into Bardot, curving his body after hers, around her, appreciating her strength, the softness overlaying it that meets his solid power. Deceptively feminine wrappings on a woman he senses would not hesitate to fight him if she wished to. Tunnel’s breath fogs against the leopard spots that climb up the side of her neck, his lips then his teeth grazing the line of her jaw down to the corner of her mouth. “You are unlike anything in this place. As out of place as your passion flowers.” He murmurs, catching her lips between one sentence and the next. He pulls back enough to nip her jaw, the soft skin at her throat. The kiss that he soothes it with hardly gentle. “It is probably the only reason I will be willing to let you go.”
She shivers beneath his attentions, aware of the markings he is making along her clear pelt. Normally she would be bothered by such things, liking to present herself as perfectly as possible. But Tunnel speaks to a wilder side of her, a darker part of herself that likes the sensations of his teeth against her skin. So she says nothing, arching beneath his touch with a soft breathy sigh. Returning his possessive touches with ones of her own. She likes the feeling of being “claimed” in a sense by him, as if she was the only thing in this dark forest that he could ever want. And in turn she leaves her own signs on him, pressing the point of her spiral just a little too hard when her blunted teeth pinch his inky blue skin, knowing she plays with fire and not caring at all if she gets burned.
He curves into her, following the pattern she has created, and she presses hard against him as she bathes in the heat of his body. He is warm despite the cold and she curls into him, breathing in his musky scent. There is an odor of decay and neglect in this part of the forest but it’s drowned out by the clean dampness of him, washed fresh from the river. The sweetness of her flowers seems to mingle with his scent and she smiles, pleased, into his shoulder just before he grazes along her jaw. “I’ve always been out of place.” She murmurs back to him once she is released from his kiss, the gold of her eyes turning dark and tarnished with the flush of lust he coaxes from her.
He nips at her throat which she readily exposes to him, fearless, as he mutters against her skin. It makes her laugh gently, softly, as if noise was too loud for this place. “Oh Tunnel.” She sighs innocently, pulling back just enough to find the intense gray skies of his eyes. “I have no intention of letting you go.” As if it had been she who had caught him all along, as if she was the spider who had snared him in her own web. That she might do the feasting instead of being feasted on.
The kiss she gives him then leaves no room for argument.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
08-04-2021, 02:13 AM (This post was last modified: 08-04-2021, 09:41 AM by Tunnel.)
Tunnel is not inclined towards imagining things and does not easily picture Bardot as a woman accustomed to being out of place. Is she not very like all of those other strangers living safely in the bounds of the kingdoms, with their pretty traits and bright skins? To think about it that way was to admit that none of them really fit anywhere. He believed he fit into the forest only because he had climbed out of the surf, slithered into the darkness and never left. What was fitting somewhere anyway? He could feed himself on stones and dirt, the little river fish, and the needles beneath the pines. He could glide among the shadows like a bruise-colored spectre. He could save the life of a child and twist that child into something like him, capable and vicious. He did all of this alone, and who would question the rightness of it but the unspeaking trees and the pitiless gods?
Bardot might.
He watches her eyes grow dark with lust, can feel it rolling off her warming frame and smell it woven into her floral perfume. He hadn’t even wanted her, not really, not at first. She wasn’t the kind that usually interested him. There was nothing broken or cowering or critically inferior about Bardot. He had stood beneath the midday sun and let her look at him with her beautiful, mocking face and done nothing as she pressed her horn to his throat and defied him. He still let her play with him, her words as bold as the sharp horn that he was certain would draw his blood before their affair was done.
She has no intention of letting him escape? He who has never been prey? Her lips catch his own before he can reply and when they break apart he pulls her in again, teeth catching at her jaw to keep her close, lips brushing hers roughly. Tunnel pulls her into his chest, teeth falling hard against her neck, pulling her mane to draw her as near as possible. He lets go, her mane is full of the scent of flowers, but when he presses his muzzle to her skin there she is beneath it. The real her, the Bardot he finds himself ravenous for. He nips her neck at first as his lips travel along but at the juncture of her neck and shoulder he bites her hard, his teeth sinking against her flesh without hesitation.
His touch becomes greedy, possessive, and he presses into her side once more and his lips trace down her spine and then follow the curve of her rump. Tunnel arches his neck and touches her as though it is his natural born right. He plucks another flower from her, separating it from her tail this time and breaking it down in his teeth. He can eat anything he wishes, even Bardot, but he would much rather bury himself between her thighs. When he circles her once more he stretches his neck to nip at her neck, down again toward her withers. “Little unicorn, I can’t be gentle. I brought you out here to have you, and when we’re done we’ll talk about your brave little speeches...” Husky words are dropped against her skin. ...and then I plan to have you again.”
Another rough nip at her withers, and then further back at the point of her hip, at the dock of her tail should she flag it for him. Still he waits, hungry to see her impatient though reluctance might also interest him; the scent of lust rolling off her is too heady for any hesitation to seem genuine.
She had always been bright and beautiful but had been born traitless, free from the adornments of horn and flowers she wears now. A Khaleesi princess, loved by her parents (as much as they could love her while hating each other), and privileged in many ways that others were not. She has always known that and perhaps if the true jungle hadn’t been swept away in the Reckoning, she would have felt settled in her own skin for years to come. However, the loss of the Amazons had forced her on paths she hadn’t expected, had made her see that not everyone saw the world as gray as she did. It had been a long time since she had felt as if she belonged somewhere, anywhere, and even though she calls Taiga home for now, she doesn’t feel that same sense of place and self that she had felt those many years ago amongst vine and dappled sunlight.
She's never truly felt at peace.
But here amongst the darkness, where that same light filters dimly from the thick canopy above, wrapped around his dark desires and mirroring them with her own…. This is a new feeling, a new sense of being wanted and belonging. She is no longer coy in her desire, letting the flush of it warm her face and linger in the gold of her eyes as they meet his slated gaze and sees, with a thrill of delight, the same hunger looking back at her.
She knows that he is the kind of stallion most would warn her away from. She had known it the moment she had laid eyes on him that he could be dangerous, was dangerous. That he had probably done terrible things that she couldn’t even put into words. And yet… She can’t help but be pulled in by him, figuratively and physically. Can’t help but see something more in the man, in the monster. It’s there in each vicious kiss he gives her, each bite that leaves dark marks along her pale skin. Beneath each rough touch is a hint of the stallion she had seen who had taken the brunt of the river for her, that part of him that kept giving her reasons to leave. He is rough and greedy and she doesn’t mind, only wants more, as her back arches where his lips find her spine. Aches for more as he coaxes small noises from her that she wasn’t aware she could even make.
He is determined to deflower her in every possible sense of the word as he rips a bloom from her tail and chews on it, circling around her as she suddenly tenses with a rush of nerves. They’ve come to a point of no return and she had known this was coming, known it when she had first spotted his inky figure highlighted against the sun (and wanted it, wanted him). She had recognized him for exactly what he was and had never thought him as anything as mild and merciful. Still, as he voices his plan to her, she can’t help the tremble that crawls beneath her skin and runs rampant down the length of her body. Part of it is a delicious shiver of anticipation (“little unicorn”, he calls her again and finds she will never get sick of hearing it) as the flutter of her wanting matches the sudden fire burning between her thighs. The rest of it is anxious nerves, of crossing into territory that’s new for her. And that promise from him that he would not be gentle.
So she pauses before turning her head and angling her skull so that she might see him better behind her and that he might see the defiance in her eyes despite the unwilling confession that spills from her lips. “You are my first.” Would he see that as a weakness? A challenge? Would he try to break her as her father had once done to her mother? She smiles at him but there is a hint of uncertainty behind her confidence, even as she slowly flags her tail and allows him to understand just how real her hunger for him was. She could have chosen someone soft for her first time, someone kind who would whisper into her ear how beautiful she was and place kisses on her forehead. She could have chosen someone gentle. And yet she had chosen him, a creature of shadow and mystery, whose very presence screamed of dark and terrible things. Things that she finds she craves as his mouth hungrily devours velvety trails of her skin. Even if she was a fool to trust him with her body, one flick back of her head would send that horn of hers into an eye, preferably, if he took it too far. “Show me what I’ve been missing.” She whispers softly as her heightened anticipation meets with the violent need of her lust that she can’t seem to keep from the breathy tone of her voice.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
Bardot surprises him, looking back with her burnished gaze and confessing that he will be the first. He feels a greed as he might have expected, the selfish smugness of discovering something secret, but that is not all.
Tunnel does not measure women based on the times they have been bedded. Though he has done terrible things he has only ever done them because he is little more than a monster thinking no further than his next impulse. He doesn’t crave virgins or feel entitled to the punishment of whores. While twisted he cannot be considered evil, base perhaps, feral, but not a calculating serial criminal.
He is almost thoughtful as he nips at the point of her hip, watching her as she gazes at him with steady defiance. He sees the way her confidence flags around her mouth, the anxiety that is edged away by her desire. He who feels so little beyond the impulse to conquer and consume recognizes her already familiar fearlessness. It should bore him, but it doesn’t. He considers releasing her, sending her away for someone else to make sweet and careful love to her. He could have her later, break her in new ways and destroy the expectation of gentleness forever.
He feels possessive at once, and protective, though what he thinks of protecting her from is himself, even as he presses nearer to her rump, her tail flagging against his shoulder. The conflict is not lost on him.
The scent of her skin, the offer of her body is too much for him to keep following his thoughts which have already become too numerous and delving for his liking. Tunnel looks down at the marks he’s left upon her pelt, rubs his cheek against her hip (a last gesture to push away anything but his need to cover her). The blue stallion nips her again, a last warning before he mounts her. He does not warn her to relax for him, his dark legs grip Bardot’s lean strong frame and he presses into her steadily and heavily. When he’s seated deep in the warmth of her she will feel the rumble of pleasure that rolls through him, savoring the feel of her beneath him. His lips press to her withers, travel down to her shoulder and back again, a gentle caress before his teeth catch against her skin and he withdraws and moves against her again. His body is strong, controlled, when he fills her he does so deeply and fully, cutting his teeth against her skin.
Tunnel is rough with her, there is no mistaking that, he does not withhold a single bruising bite and his thrusts do not yield.
Her name is on his lips, he drops it against her back on a hot breath and draws in a breath heady with the sweat and sex scent of her. The flowers are an afternote to the stallion now, drowned out by the honest warmth of her body beneath him. His clean skin darkens with his own sweat but Tunnel is far from ready to be done with Bardot. He calls her little unicorn when he coaxes her, to come for him, to shudder beneath him for the first time. He wants to fill his ears with the sounds she makes when he presses into her. She shows him what he has been missing as he fucks her, and he may never forgive her for it.
08-05-2021, 02:19 PM (This post was last modified: 08-05-2021, 02:49 PM by Bardot.)
Bardot
I know what sin is
What thoughts lurk behind those gray-sky eyes? He seems to be considering her truth, as he nips at her hip and brushes his head against her. She doesn’t realize that she’s been holding her breath until he mounts her, grasping her with an experienced hold. As the weight of him settles both on top and inside her, all the air goes out of the little unicorn with a sharp gasp. There is a blossom of pain that she hadn’t been fully expecting and the trembling intensifies as her limbs seem to weaken beneath her. Somehow he holds her steady against him even as he continues to settle himself within her and she grits her teeth, too full of her pride, to cry out or make a noise of discomfort. She is tense and unwilling beneath him, unable to think of anything but this shock to her system. Of the pain. She sees now how sex can be a weapon, how it can be used to hurt.
An unexpected gentle touch is given along her shoulder and as she feels his rumble, feels that rare affection, she loosens her tension slightly. The bite that follows is rough but that at least she understands from him. He begins to move, controlled and rhythmic, and she breathes heavily against the flare of pain again as his teeth cut once more into her skin, as he fills her with each demanding thrust. And just as she had found the sensuality in that pain, she begins to understand the pattern of his movements. She tries to adjust herself and moves back against him, discovering a way to alleviate the suffering and unearthing the unexpected pleasure waiting for her beneath. He’s holding something back, the thought dashes across her mind, as he buries himself within her again. He is an unyielding storm moving across her back, stroking parts of her she had never felt before. Despite the heavy handedness of his grip and the way he marks her flesh, despite the way he never stops his thrusts, she knows that this is only a small taste of him. This was Tunnel once more being considerate, holding back the strong river current, and even if he didn't realize it.... She did.
Her ears lace back against her head as she arches beneath him and discovers, unable to keep the small surprised sound from her lips, that it doesn’t hurt quite so much anymore despite the cruel inflictions he casts along her withers. In fact, when she moves like that and allows him deeper, he seems to hit a rather pleasurable spot. One that makes that sensation within her build until the pressure becomes as unbearable as the first sharp pain of his entry had been. His voice finds her through the haze, her name falling huskily across her shoulders, and she can’t help the raw noise that escapes her in response. It seems to give him notice, clueing him into what’s building inside of her, as she writhes beneath him and tries to find release. All it takes is that delectable whisper (“little unicorn”) as he sinks into her again and she finally breaks beneath him.
She reaches the crest of the wave and topples over it as warm velvety pleasure rolls through her body and she finally breaks the eerie silence around them, her cry echoing into the darkness of the cold forest. She can no longer feel the chill, dark damp strands of mane and flower curl against her dappled neck as her sweat-slicked body trembles while she gasps for air. Tries to calm the racing of her pulse as her heart slams against her chest. She had understood before how sex could be a weapon but now… Now she understands it again, in a different way. Now she can see why beings bend and fight and break for it, as the ride from such a high begins to calm and settle around her.
It is only he that keeps her standing, continues to hold her steady against him, as she trembles and melts beneath him with closed eyes, trying to make sense of everything he had shown her. And when she finally opens them, revealing the golden daze of gratification, a small lazy smile plays across her lips.
They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;
The tension of pain lives rigidly in Bardot’s muscles in the beginning, he knows this because he can feel it. It is a familiar feeling and one he has rarely bothered to notice, leaving himself to focus only on the thrill of satisfying instinct, and the delicious flavor of pain and fear. Bardot does not cry, or struggle, or decide to fight. After a time she does begin to move, to translate his thrusts into something that gives her pleasure and he follows her queues with atypical curiosity. Not long after she drops her ears back into the dark cords of her mane and makes the most delicious sound, so quiet that he’d miss it if his senses weren’t suddenly so full of her. Her body awakens around him and he groans, burying himself as deeply as he can. Bardot tenses, beginning to writhe under his muscular body and he increases his pace before those words she so adores send her over the edge. The little unicorn feels incredible and he increases his pace, taking a hank of her mane into his grip as he does so. His thrusts become harder, more insistent, and he holds her tight as he finishes, so that there is no space between them at all.
How boneless she is when he slips from her back. Tunnel stands close beside her, letting her lean into his massive blue frame if she chose. He grooms a mark on her side, not softly, nor with the roughness that had left it in the first place.
His attention to her has not been gentleness in the way most others would recognize it. Under her tawny pelt the skin is likely to soon be terribly bruised, her body will likely ache where she has been relentlessly gripped and grabbed.
She is so much more beautiful than she had already been before he'd had her. Sweat has broken across her skin and her dark mane curls and sticks to her neck like small black serpents lulled to sleep in her radiant warmth. Tunnel brushes them away with his lips and tastes the salt on her skin. He feels the flush there, senses the contentment loosening her muscles. Bardot's flowers do not wilt from the heat of her body but he swears some of them are rumpled, partially crushed so that their petals crease. He does not remember touching them but will the next time, a strange eroticism in pulling them apart that was not there before. He had hated her flowers, but now their fragrance creeps down his throat and makes him thirst.
He looks at her and lust curls in him again and gathers in his eyes like a heavy storm. Their breathing is loud in the close forest, her exhalations remind him of the mewling, quaking cries he had driven from her, he reaches up to kiss her throat and drag his teeth against this soft vulnerable part of her. His voice low, as deep as dark water. "You are a brave little unicorn, Bardot."
The pause that follows seems as though it should be filled with words but it isn't. He's looking at her, his body already calling him back to hers, aching to spend himself atop her, within her again, this time he wants her blood on his tongue, to push her off of her feet… to…
Cold suffuses the blue black expanse of his sweat darkened back, nausea follows and he pulls away from Bardot. Putting space between them so that the forest chill pours in around both of their bodies. The disgust on his stony features isn't for her but he doesn't make any clarification. "You need to leave now." To the west the sun is sinking away. The dapples of light are gone and the shadows do not grow long here, just dense and blue and cold. Tunnel's tone is cruelly smooth, leaving her nothing to catch herself on, accepting no challenge. Yet he knows she will defy him, will tempt him past his control with her barbed tongue and golden eyes. He snorts, dismissively, and leaves. Abandons her in the forest, knowing his way too well to be followed.
The pathways he crosses are a mad warren, he knows not to follow them long. Once he has gained some distance he chooses a cardinal direction and moves through the undergrowth letting the bramble scratch and pull at him. He still smells her on his skin, and a headache pounds beneath his brow, tension and frustration coiling around him as he disappears into the dark.
![[Image: BQjeje-Bardot2.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/T37nJTF6/BQjeje-Bardot2.png)