a thousand times I tempted fate;
The constant shift between shy and confidence is showing with him, certain acts bringing out each reaction so smoothly; giving and taking as he chooses. Bending the way he wishes too instead of being forced one or the other. The act is exhilarating. He had never been in control, always under the command of someone else. Wielded like a sword in battle, directed and moved; a pawn. He is not that now, he is his own soul. His own tool to use. This was his freedom, now if he could find the happiness that Orra said that came with it he would set. No longer falling but centered and stable. As orange eyes watch Fjall still yet, waiting to see what she will choose to do. Overcome her guilt and fill her belly or reject it and remain empty. This is her choice, her option to play out. He will not force her to choose when it is not his right to do so. Ears perk at her words, hearing the strangled tone of hunger. As she admits that even in guilt she cannot ignore her instincts to feed.
Her possessive words of the coon, they are like a gift. A sweet blessing that he is rewarded with. As he sings of her victory against her foe. As he waits, wanting to hear her join in and rejoice. Like a storm is rushes out, surpassing his as his own tapers off to give light for hers. For he is merely the instigator she was the show. This is her song to sing. The sweet melody, a different cadence than his own but with the same intent. Blood. Victory. A burst of warmth blooms in his chest; pride. At first this feeling startles him for he had never been proud of another, besides his blood and Orra. His tail swaying with ease, as she ends the song and strikes her kill with vengeance. He should look away, turn around and let her enjoy this to herself but he cannot force his feet to move. It is almost like a dance, the way she devours and plucks the meat from bones. Sating herself, surviving. Until there is nothing left but mere scrapes that even the buzzards will not even want.
He watches her sit back to begin to preen, he had never been one to wipe the blood from his maw; Orra had always wanted him to maintain at least a somewhat civilized appearance so he watches her with rapt attention. As his own tongue rolls along his lips ridding the red from the tan and black. Trying to clean as well. At her words he stills, the happiness in her tone is heard as he looks back to her. As she jumps up like a pup, ever excited. Her golden eyes crossing to peer at her nose and he cannot stop the strangled sound of a laugh which instead sounds like a hacking cough, but there is mirth in his eyes as his cheeks warm and he clears his throat at the failed attempt. "You did well, little warrior." He pauses, steeping closer to look at the wounded nose. "It will heal, if it scars you will forever tell the tale of the coon you slighted." There is a shy humor to his tone unsure if she will feel pride at the act just yet.
"Where would you like to go?" He questions, for he isn't sure what else lay beyond the common lands, his travels have placed him close to the packs but he had since avoided their borders. Not yet ready to face that battle. It is now, he brings to light a question that seems to blurt from his tongue. "Arewefriends??.." The rush of words is followed by a warm of his cheeks, yet there is puzzlement hidden beneath the timidness. Afraid and yet curious of what her answer will be, wondering what entitled others to be called "a friend". For despite his shy nature he does not look away, openly looking at her and waiting. As his head tilts to the side, another questions spills. "Umm, could you - you help me find my s-sister?.." The stumble seems like glue in his mouth, he had never been one to ask for help, until now. But perhaps a native of the land would know where to look, and what better company to have if she was indeed a friend?..
Jericho. six - no mate - no imprint - nowhere |