01-16-2017, 01:31 AM
Stillwater
He'd had a taste of her. Now he craved it. Needed to satisfy it. Needed her.
So, he waded through the river, tracking her scent like a hound. A hungry, hungry hound. He gave up his watery path when she stemmed too far to follow, black coat dripping comfortably. She'd lingered within the mountainous ridge-line, pacing, searching for something. He didn't care what, he just needed her. And damn, he hated mountains. He glared up at them for a minute, grounding his teeth and despising how tiring this was going to be, before finally moving forward.
The chain at his ankle clinked like chain mail on a knight. It was a king's crown, in its own way. But also a very effective leash. The burdens of a ruler taken a little too seriously by a wicked witch. There's a love story in that somewhere, he though darkly.
When he finally -oh god, finally- crested the ridge, he was bathed in a sheen of both water and sweat, each step placed more solidly than the last. The travel and hunger had soured his mood, and his belly fussed that he still had not reached her. Where the hell was that little minx?
Karaugh! His voice boomed, like a father calling his child when they didn't come home in time for dinner. His dinner. He looked down from his perch still within the border of Sylva, some sort of wet, black lion looking over his pride-lands, and caught sight of her chocolatey coat. Some fellow pretending to be her caramel topping curled around her.
He wasn't territorial. Not over women, even his spicy-sweet Karaugh, not over this land he was charged with protecting. It wasn't in his nature, not unless he -well he hadn't done that so it wasn't important. Typically, he'd just walk away and let her handle herself how she wished; she wasn't his. But damn the craving was eating away at him, and he needed to sate it.
Release her, please, he called down to them not far away. His words were polite, but it was a clear command, flat and firm. Just let me take my fill and then she can do whatever the hell she wants with whomever she wants.
So, he waded through the river, tracking her scent like a hound. A hungry, hungry hound. He gave up his watery path when she stemmed too far to follow, black coat dripping comfortably. She'd lingered within the mountainous ridge-line, pacing, searching for something. He didn't care what, he just needed her. And damn, he hated mountains. He glared up at them for a minute, grounding his teeth and despising how tiring this was going to be, before finally moving forward.
The chain at his ankle clinked like chain mail on a knight. It was a king's crown, in its own way. But also a very effective leash. The burdens of a ruler taken a little too seriously by a wicked witch. There's a love story in that somewhere, he though darkly.
When he finally -oh god, finally- crested the ridge, he was bathed in a sheen of both water and sweat, each step placed more solidly than the last. The travel and hunger had soured his mood, and his belly fussed that he still had not reached her. Where the hell was that little minx?
Karaugh! His voice boomed, like a father calling his child when they didn't come home in time for dinner. His dinner. He looked down from his perch still within the border of Sylva, some sort of wet, black lion looking over his pride-lands, and caught sight of her chocolatey coat. Some fellow pretending to be her caramel topping curled around her.
He wasn't territorial. Not over women, even his spicy-sweet Karaugh, not over this land he was charged with protecting. It wasn't in his nature, not unless he -well he hadn't done that so it wasn't important. Typically, he'd just walk away and let her handle herself how she wished; she wasn't his. But damn the craving was eating away at him, and he needed to sate it.
Release her, please, he called down to them not far away. His words were polite, but it was a clear command, flat and firm. Just let me take my fill and then she can do whatever the hell she wants with whomever she wants.
go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it