lost to the hunt as I was to you; pyxis, any

[Daemron]

They are still there, watching (waiting), though they remain at an imperceptible distance in the darkness. He wouldn’t risk sending them away – not now – but they aren’t like Red. These wolves are strangers summoned in an instant from the wilderness, and he senses the edge to their primality like flint that might strike at any moment if not for the restraint of his silent command. Under the surface, Daemron is on edge, too – agitated to think anything might happen to Pyxis, or her family. Or theirs, as he would soon find out. He exhales when she presses her head against him, the now-familiar brush of velvet antlers on his skin a small comfort as he lets himself inhale her warmth. Beneath an unshakeable exterior, her presence serves to soothe his innermost nerves. His mouth finds the nape of her neck past locks of her dark hair – and when she tells him she’s worried, he can almost feel her pulse skip a beat when she says the word: us. Daemron watches as she pulls back to meet his eyes, hardly allowing himself to draw another breath when she tells him the news. “An us,” he repeats, his gaze falling to the soft slope of her belly. Instinctively he steps closer, and without thought he lets his muzzle come to rest upon the gentle swelling, near to her heartbeat – near to the heartbeats of his family. “An us,” he says again, more firmly this time, and he closes his eyes as though to listen harder for what he was sure would be the sound of his own heart beating outside of himself therein. They were going to be a family. He opens his eyes, emotion shining clearly through their faint grey light – but the moment is interrupted by Pyxis’ outcry as she abruptly pushes past him. Daemron whirls, quickly grasping the situation while the antlered mare calls her nephew’s name. He is about to take a step forward when he feels it. A small black outline rustling through nearby grasses (close; too close). The smell of prey (of Lupine) thick in his nostrils. The promise of the hunt surging suddenly through his veins. The flint, struck and ignited. And the wolves react –– But so does he. They are already lunging when he intervenes, taking control of a silvery she-wolf whose maw was gaping wide to snap up the miniscule feline in a single bite. He is just in time to loosen her jaw, enough that when her mouth closes he doesn’t feel the kill (warm blood and soft bones). Not like before. The other wolves are crying out their protests, releasing their frustrations as they snarl and bite at each other instead – but only after the wild animal emerges from the darkness would Pyxis realize the commotion was not, in fact, a signal of her nephew’s demise. Silver fur glistens in the moonlight as she carries Lupine to them between her teeth, slanted eyes curiously blank; there was none of the wolf left for now. There was only Daemron. It is his paws that tread noiselessly toward them. It is his jaw that holds the squirming kitten – his mouth that salivates past a lolling tongue – and it is his veins that roar with predatory instincts that are at complete odds with his actions. Still, the wolf deposits her would-be prize at Pyxis’ feet, before turning to melt into the night once more. A moment later, Daemron comes back to himself. A ripple runs through him then, and he finds that he is furious – furious at what might have happened. What if Pyxis hadn’t noticed the child’s disappearance at that exact moment? What if he hadn’t gotten control of the silvery wolf in the split second that he did? “What were you thinking?” he fumes. “It’s not safe!” Perhaps his voice is harder than he’d meant it to be – but his pulse yet races, though whether it is with sudden paternal trepidation or with remnants of the hunt, he isn’t sure. daemron lost to the hunt as I was to you

VERY GROUNDED. @[laura] & @[insane]