@[Zepar]
@[Sabé]
@[Sabé]
He literally can't stay off of her. So. Unlucky for his golden beauty-face, she seemed to be in a constant state of pregnancy or maternal something or other. He wouldn't deny, he sort of liked it. She was quite good at it. Clearly the best mother of the herd so far, having raised one already and bringing another so willingly into the world. It made his loins stir just thinking of her capable little ass. The only thing we wasn't so thrilled about with Sabé was her lack of love for his home, her home. She seemed to always find the barren bad spots, frowning always when she looks around. There is so much fertility and beauty in the Village. Rolling hills, rivers of lava r clear water, waterfalls, a lack, a coast, a few tropical isles – exotic birds, fruits and even a patch of ancient forest. He isn't quite sure why she's not getting it, but his patience with the subject of her displeased demeanor over the Village is starting to wear thin.
He moves on.
He can smell her coat and the scent of blood. It's not like death blood, it's different. The mixed aromas of her lactation and the tender taste of the newborn's scent also makes the gore of life smell much lovelier than the gore of death's pungent stench. “Wow.” He whispers, moving cautiously toward her with his head lowered to the babe's level. “A boy this time, aye?” He bumps the boy with his scruffy muzzle, breathing him in and giving him a few loving licks to clean him off a bit.
“Well done, Sabé, well done.” He presses his lips to her sweaty cheek, huffing a warm breath onto her moist skin. His teeth and prehensile lip nibbles at her neck for a moment. He can never help himself from molesting her a bit. Obviously – she's always pregnant. He becomes distracted and lifts his head up to look around, “ Where is Ruri these days, anyway?” His ears swivel and his eyes look around to see if maybe he'd missed her when he had first approached.
He moves on.
He can smell her coat and the scent of blood. It's not like death blood, it's different. The mixed aromas of her lactation and the tender taste of the newborn's scent also makes the gore of life smell much lovelier than the gore of death's pungent stench. “Wow.” He whispers, moving cautiously toward her with his head lowered to the babe's level. “A boy this time, aye?” He bumps the boy with his scruffy muzzle, breathing him in and giving him a few loving licks to clean him off a bit.
“Well done, Sabé, well done.” He presses his lips to her sweaty cheek, huffing a warm breath onto her moist skin. His teeth and prehensile lip nibbles at her neck for a moment. He can never help himself from molesting her a bit. Obviously – she's always pregnant. He becomes distracted and lifts his head up to look around, “ Where is Ruri these days, anyway?” His ears swivel and his eyes look around to see if maybe he'd missed her when he had first approached.
chemdog
astra inclinant, sed non obligant.
