forget all the names we used to know
That Gryffen should summon him was unfathomable.
It was all the young wolf ever wanted. The timing is unexpected, though, so when the pale stallion disturbs Crevan’s idle interest at the tangle of indiscernible horseflesh, the rising Sylvian starts as if he’s been caught doing something he most certainly should not be. “Gryffen,” He manages to say, casting one ear in the direction of his King as he remains motionless beneath his leader’s touch. “Thank you.”
They grow silent. Crevan’s head tilts gently aside to catch the stare thrown at him and he returns it with a smile, much too eager to feel the rush of pleasure as Sylva’s rightful master continues to groom him with praise. He can’t speak, even though he hears every word as sharp as light cutting through crystal. “Thana is interested, in me?” He thinks numbly, “And you … too …” But the places where Gryffen’s mouth touch are left in trails of fire, and he’s drunk on the need for more - more of it, more of him.
He always had, after all. Wanted him.
“No.” His mind supplies, harsh and unforgiving. It was taboo … too much so. His heart, racing through his veins in a mad dash of testosterone and adrenaline, lurches to a halt when Gryffen finalizes his thoughts. It takes everything within him to keep from shifting, from running through these woods with mad intentions and unrestrained, savage joy at the every thought of it - Shade of Sylva.
“As you desire.” The muddy stallion breaths, chest rising and falling with quick bursts of air. “I also have something for you,” He says, nervous electricity keeping his eyes away from the face of his peer. “a girl. Name’s Celest. I found her by the River and brought her here, she might be worth looking into.” He offers in way of direct order. If Gryffen was interested, the white wraith would go to see it himself. Crevan’s duty was to inform, and he’d done just that.
Whatever the curious illusionist wished to do with the information given was all his own agenda.
revan
@[Gryffen]