<font color=#063a88>Pick a color%01<sup> Pick a LIE</sup></font>

The day was beginning to wane as shadows awaken from their slumber. Content, the duke lays, head upon his paws before the den he recently constructed, lazily watching the sky. Just like all good things, day too had to end. With nightfall came dreams and nightmares as the damned came out to play. They used the velvety darkness as their cloak in order to torment those around them. It was pathetic to say the least; the truly demented did not shy away from the light. The slime of their true self was enough to cast shadows even under the brightest glare from the sun.
Ears twitch as the alto of his beloved reaches them, her tones caressing his eardrums and bringing forth a mischievous smile to his visage. Her passing was quick, her scent lingering longer than her actual bodice and almost instantly he missed her. He missed her eyes, the way she moved, and her sass. He wanted more but yet he did not move, instead staying put before his den offering his good nights to the few stragglers until there were none. His den was only a tree length away from Jagger and so he waited and watched until she squeezed her muscular form thru the opening before rising. With a long stretch he turns, dipping into the opening of his own den. But unlike others who most surely curled up safe and warm, he was restless. His heart hammered, his body longed for a run and with nerves alive he lingered within the darkness of the rim. Hidden within the same ghosts that shield the demons, even his eyes do not flash due to hooded lids. Perched upon his belly, peering out into the clearing, and just waiting; breathing and giving thanks to the Tyrant, he waited.
And then when he was about to actually turn in he waited another minute, always waiting another minute after he felt like it was safe. When one thought it safe, it typically never was which is why he waited another minute and for his patience he is rewarded with the devious corsets of his warrior. She slips forth from her den with the stealth of a serpent, blending in with the night effortlessly. Pity a hawk watched her every move. Curiosity piqued he too slips forth, drawing upon his earlier training as a warrior to mask his steps, brows rising as they both approach the cliffs. He could proceed but he hangs back as she scales the cliff face, deciding to wait. Several minutes tick by, the gentle crashing of the waves his lullaby as he dozes, but he never allows himself the luxury of actually sleeping. His mind was too busy with possibilities of why his warrior lady would sneak off. He would get to the bottom of it though, just as soon as he waits another minute.
Then and only then does he leave the safety of his hiding spot, careful of his steps as he follows her scent. Her perfume is his trail as he wanders upward, marveling at her stealth and brilliance as he comes upon her, sprawled before the mouth of a den. She lay on her belly, her head upon her paws but with eyes closed. She was vulnerable and for a minute, okay several minutes, he stood there watching her slumber. The tension nonexistent within her lush fur, and without thinking he presses his body to hers. He curls his tail around her, laying his head over her neck to snuggle closer as he breathes in her scent. He breathes deeply then exhales softly and slowly, watching his breath playing within the soft tendrils of her fur. For the first time he is content, truly content, and before he knows it he is asleep. But not before whispering into her fur that he loves her.

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