lost in the night

Pacing. It was something he had done since Daenerys had left to answer the challenge that had been made against her throne. The well worn path he had created does nothing to alleviate his emotions; fear, pride, protectiveness, and anger. The turmoil that builds and rages within him reflecting in his posture. From his laced back ears, twitching lips, and low growls. Orange eyes burning, like flickering flames just waiting for the fuel to start a roaring fire. He knows he should mask it better, for he was not alone. Occasionally does he glance to the side where his family watches him. Everlyse reveals nothing, just stares at him as he paces, Semele gives him a look of sympathy and worry, while Everett and Liah lay nestled between their sister's limbs. The tension surrounding him leaving an air of warning even though he would never harm them should they approach. He is on edge, instincts screaming at him to go to her. Protect her. Yet every move he makes outside of his path is met with the snapping jaws of his sister. He complies, growling his dislike before continuing.

It has been so long since he has felt helpless. Unable to fix this. To think they should be enjoying the fact they had recently become mates, instead he is worrying of her safety because another so foolishly thinks to take her mountains from her grasp. A deadly rumble escapes his lips yet it is the answering one that causes his ears to perk and orange eyes to seek it's keeper. Orange collides with orange. Her lips raised as she growls back, yet he does not miss the fact her posture does not match her aggression. There is no heat in her eyes, something more akin to understanding and for the first time since they had been reunited his sister is trying to help him. Offering a distraction with the only thing she knows how, teeth and claws. He does not miss that Semele now stands from the corner of his eye, knowing she will intervene on his behalf thinking her mother was once more trying to harm him. A subtle shake of his head is sent to his niece, not missing the fear in her eyes at this act. Looking back at his sister, a low growl escapes turning into a heavy sigh that seems to drain him. But as he begins to speak the mountains seem to shake at the howl that rings from the peaks. At the sound he closes his eyes, embracing the familiar call as he shivers slightly. Daenerys. Before the call has even ended he looks quickly to his sister and her children, the subtle jerk of her head sends him in motion as he rushes past Everlyse, purposely making slight contact in silent thanks.

He runs, heart pounding. Trees seem to blur as he passes them, for his only intent is getting to her as fast as he can. Rounding a corner as dirt clouds from the quick turn, bursting through the dense brush like a charging bull as it brings him into the clearing that surrounds her throne of rock. Instantly does he still, his momentum throwing him off for just a moment before he collects himself. Orange eyes lingering over the already gathered crowd who had come to support their queen. Perhaps it is rude of him to ignore so many, but fear and instincts override them in the face of finding his mate. It is when he see's the forms of the princes' and princess does his orange eyes follow and he finally finds what he seeks. Feet are already in motion, pulling him to her without much effort. His heart straining at the distance, yet he does not want to intrude on the moment with her children even when he needs to see her. He gives them this, only moving when they begin to move away from her. As he passes them he cannot help but offer a touch, brief and quick. Then he is home.

A low growl cannot be stopped at closer inspection of his queen, the way her paw is held to her chest or the wounds that mar her neck. It is not as if he had thought she would have remained perfectly safe yet seeing her wounded does something to his instincts that make him want blood. Something he had not desired in so long. Muscles strain at the tension so present in his posture. As he steps forward the low growl still ringing until it is silenced with contact. His touch is gentle, soft, not wanting to cause her any more pain as he moves to lick at the wounds surrounding her neck; the same neck he had been buried within when he had professed his love. He says nothing, for his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. Pride at her victory battles with his anger. His focus is solely on her, breathing her in as he touches her. Trying to soothe both him and her. Until finally does he pull back, seeking those eyes he wants nothing more to drown in as a rasped low whisper finally breaks his silence. "I am proud of you.." The affection in his words rely the truth. For here she was so regal before her pack while he knows she is in pain. "..and they are proud of you too." Low words accompanied by a small smile. Knowing now that she is safe among her home eases some of his worry, but the desire to whisk her away to the private of their den is also there. Instincts and heart demand he care for her after she had so valiantly defended her home and the home of her pack. So he moves, coming to sit along her side, offering himself should she need to lean upon him. His tail curling around her as if he cannot get close enough or touch her enough. Finally allowing himself to look out over the ones who had gathered thus far.

jericho

THE BLOODRIDER OF SPIRANE