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He is fast, he is strong, he is safe, he is lithe and agile. He keeps up with her play, even unto play becoming something more primal, more base than even her baser mind itself. It is thrilling to this more animal Paisley, being pursued and finding she is not the faster or the stronger of the two.
He and she are bound in an event neither want to prevent, neither can prevent even. This is as the dance with Samhain, an opening of her being to the beyond, to the world’s mercy - only deeper. Only further.
His teeth find her scruff, her snapping almost playful with the intermittent lolled tongue. He has her pinned, though, and soon his urgency becomes hers, the underbrush and leaf litter thoroughly disturbed by their little dance and chase. She is his, he is hers - and then it is peace and victory for them both. Him, he has his prize. Her, she is to bring life into the world.
He is warm, her size, and she feels at peace for that moment. At peace despite the antsy itch that has returned to her paws, despite being as restful now as her mated stranger. They nest for the moment together in the wake of their mutual moment, and perhaps the same strange eagerness will take them again when they wake, and maybe not. Nature was their master now.
the little lass of nowhere
female | 4 years | 23 inches | 63 pounds | no mate | no imprint
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