01-20-2018, 11:47 PM
Her world is painted in the colors of uncertainty. She has experienced flashes of confidence (swaddled in the embraces of her brothers, winding between Tephra’s lava streams, wading through the salty waves under a canvas of constellations) but Wound cannot deny her future is shaded in hues she does not yet comprehend. Her pregnancy is a frequent flyer in the concoctions of her thoughts — both of her child and its sire.
But someone who unnerves her daily is Longclaw. The way his blue hide drags along the sinewy length of his muscle, the clench of his jawline, the deep green of his blazing eyes; there isn’t a moment when Wound isn’t completely thrown off balance by the iridescent commander. She must remind herself (even now, with her sides swollen and his delicious lips curling into a smoky smile) that he belongs to Femur.
Oh, dear little Wound, so set in her ill-perceived ways.
Her cheeks flame with a blush at his compliment. Wound is used to derogatory insults tossed her way among the neutral clearings of Beqanna. Her thoughts twist dramatically from her shyness as his mouth gently brushes along one high cheek. She’s so taken aback that her mind is stunned for a moment, lost in the thunderstorm of his manly scent and the electric heat that tingles against her face from where his lips had been a moment before.
Her laugh comes out nervous. Wound’s coffee eyes dart to meet his forested ones, a soft sigh expelling from her lungs in an attempt to gather herself. “I doubt I’d be able to chase anyone down.” Her voice is firmer than her laughter moments before, although the path his eyes follow send her careening into another dimension of fluster once more.
“I — oh, um — ah,” (damnit, Wound, pull yourself together) “No, no, no.” A memory, flashing behind the plethora of reserved chagrin in her eyes. Navy and bay, the stars glowing overhead like a million dreams tossed in the sky, the waves licking at her heels, the quiet moans of selfish pleasure. Wound shakes her head roughly, mane rolling over her crest and across her shoulders to clear her mind from her devilish thoughts. “I wasn’t hurt; thank you for asking.”
She feels the weight of his unannounced question, but it will remain unanswered. At least for now. Wound cannot put more burdens on her mind, and certainly telling Longclaw of her child’s sire before telling the man himself would give her thoughts more cargo. Wound attempts to divert the conversation back to Longclaw instead, shaking the timidity out of her hair. “How are you and Femur?”
She must mention the fanged mare after all, before her lust takes a turn toward a deeper road she often only visits at night.
@[Longclaw] sooo sorry this took so long to get back to you! I've been swamped with homework D:
But someone who unnerves her daily is Longclaw. The way his blue hide drags along the sinewy length of his muscle, the clench of his jawline, the deep green of his blazing eyes; there isn’t a moment when Wound isn’t completely thrown off balance by the iridescent commander. She must remind herself (even now, with her sides swollen and his delicious lips curling into a smoky smile) that he belongs to Femur.
Oh, dear little Wound, so set in her ill-perceived ways.
Her cheeks flame with a blush at his compliment. Wound is used to derogatory insults tossed her way among the neutral clearings of Beqanna. Her thoughts twist dramatically from her shyness as his mouth gently brushes along one high cheek. She’s so taken aback that her mind is stunned for a moment, lost in the thunderstorm of his manly scent and the electric heat that tingles against her face from where his lips had been a moment before.
Her laugh comes out nervous. Wound’s coffee eyes dart to meet his forested ones, a soft sigh expelling from her lungs in an attempt to gather herself. “I doubt I’d be able to chase anyone down.” Her voice is firmer than her laughter moments before, although the path his eyes follow send her careening into another dimension of fluster once more.
“I — oh, um — ah,” (damnit, Wound, pull yourself together) “No, no, no.” A memory, flashing behind the plethora of reserved chagrin in her eyes. Navy and bay, the stars glowing overhead like a million dreams tossed in the sky, the waves licking at her heels, the quiet moans of selfish pleasure. Wound shakes her head roughly, mane rolling over her crest and across her shoulders to clear her mind from her devilish thoughts. “I wasn’t hurt; thank you for asking.”
She feels the weight of his unannounced question, but it will remain unanswered. At least for now. Wound cannot put more burdens on her mind, and certainly telling Longclaw of her child’s sire before telling the man himself would give her thoughts more cargo. Wound attempts to divert the conversation back to Longclaw instead, shaking the timidity out of her hair. “How are you and Femur?”
She must mention the fanged mare after all, before her lust takes a turn toward a deeper road she often only visits at night.
@[Longclaw] sooo sorry this took so long to get back to you! I've been swamped with homework D: