She sways, her body moving with the gentle breeze as it tickles and dances within her multihued chassis. Mind is in tuned with nature, noting the way the fowl seem to titter and fade, all but screaming to her that a monster heads her way. Yet still she does not falter, does not rip her devious mind from the lingering shadows before, eyes chasing the illusions as they scurry behind sentry after sentry. Calling for her sight, yet refusing her view of them. A breath is taken, sides moving as her lungs fill with the heady concoction of masculine cologne. The mixture is intoxicating, causing her breath to hitch and her eyes slide shut for just that moment. IT swirled within her mind’s eye, his aroma that of the deep dark earth, the kind of loamy soil found deep within the woods under several layers of forest litter. Deep and dark, fragrant and rich it was but it was far from a solitaire scent. Intermixed with it was the scent of a deer hide that had tanned beneath the summer’s heat: leathery…hers.
She dared not move, even when his deep tenor a washes her senses, his scent clouding her mind. So soft, softer than would should be called for. Radars, once stoic sentries in their own right, flicker back then forward, fighting to free her from this smog. What was this witchery? One by one her paws move of their own volition, desperate to be near this being, throwing her inner sanctity in chaos, until she was facing him. Eyes snap up to meet his, the molten golden lava of her own vision melting into his own. His bodice stood upon four pillars, his mass looming and threatening despite the merry sway of his whipcord. Massive cranium boasts a expressive mask, the lengthy scar that sits almost lazily upon his face all but whimpers for her tongue. She fights the urge to saunter closer, to draw her pink tongue across the grayish fur, to part the inky abyss until she found the cicatrice, until she massaged the area with said tongue.
”What fool’s errand this be?” Her voice is of wonder, taking a step closer, her paw settling into the grasses that she is all but perched into. She is confused, yet borderline angry that another would trick her in such a way. And as if in perfect agreement her feathered nemesis’s break out in song, shattering the moment and as the jagged pieces fall so does her bewilderment. In its place is outrage as a guttural growl rises within her throat. ”A bheith imithe leis an magadh. méid atá déanta agat dom?”{ Be gone with this mockery. what have you done to me?}She all but snarls, her stance fluidly moving into a aggressive stance.
He had managed to uproot her and dishevel her all in the span of moments. She shall get to the bottom of this and fast.