Glaesfaet Sceawere is the name gifted to the mother river that flows through the center of Blossom Forest, bringing life and sustenance to all of the lands. It breaks off in many places, giving birth to smaller streams and estuaries, but the main body flows from the lake high in the north in Dierne Hrof all the way south down through Uyaraut to empty into the ocean. It is a fresh water river, but down through Uyaraut, the salt water does taint it. In places, parts of the river are underground and run through caverns unseen from aboveground.

Water buffalo grace these shores - with plenty of meat, though at a dangerous cost. Many river trout leap upstream daily.


little ghost [mature]

run . . . run . . . run . . . away

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A furious groan scraped past Losa’s throat as she defiantly bit back the whimpers wanting to spill from her chest. She knew his pinpoint fangs were poking holes in the satin material of her aud, judging by the way her raw nerve endings shrieked; unfortunately, if the lass wanted to pull free, she’d have to lose her ear to the demon’s unyielding grip. At this point it seemed a small price to pay. What was one silken triangle to her dignity? Her safety? Her life? Except even as the lass contemplated such a grisly choice, she realized there was no way. Squirming beneath the ravenous monster hammered her brain with pain signals too powerful to ignore. It didn’t matter if this lecherous beast decided to walk away—Losa still could not stand on her own, much less flee from danger. She was a butterfly pinned to a board. Wings crumpled and useless. Trapped.

As soon as he unhinged his jaws, Losa craned her neck around, pristine pears flashing on full display and a savage rumble firing to life in her chest. She reached to grab something—anything—and bite down with all the strength residing in her tiny dancer’s frame, hard enough to repay him for the agony he put her through, hard enough that maybe he’d reconsider treating her as a silly toy. But she struck too late. Her teeth clicked shut on air, amethyst and cerulean portals aflame while she watched him settle himself near her haunches. If it weren’t for her shoulder, Losa would have lunged at him like a shark and clawed at him like a jungle cat. Her hatred seethed inside of her, a white-hot violent thing with a life of its own. How dare he. How dare he. It hurt the lithe ballerina to experience something so purely vicious . . . but it was either fury or fear. And she refused to give this vampire the satisfaction of seeing her a shivering wreck. Losa clung to her lion-like ire the way a drowning victim clutches at driftwood—desperate and helpless and with talons outstretched. The more she focused upon the supernova of rage erupting within her breast, the more she could pretend her panic was just an inconvenient throb in the pit of her stomach.

His massive paw flattened the aggressively spiked forest of sable prickling up and down her spine and pressed her deeper into the mud. Losa snarled at the possessive gesture—a sound that curdled into a gasp of shock as his muzzle nudged her smooth inner thigh. His smoky purr skittered into her ears like a swarm of spiders, filthy legs tingling through her awareness and tightening the web of terror that constricted her. “Shut up.” Losa meant to roar the words. Instead they escaped her velvet lips in a thin whisper she felt ashamed to make. Everything out of his ghastly maw was a lie. A disgusting fallacy. The sylph would never respond to him in the way the highwayman implied. They very notion—

“AH!” The dragon’s fangs pierced the softness of her flank, digging until skin broke and blood rushed to the surface. Losa reflexively lifted her hips to try and escape the pain, growling miserably when her upper body could not follow and instead lay collapsed in the slurping mire. The only thing worse than the sharpness of teeth was the slickness of tongue stroking over those fresh punctures . . . the back of her thigh . . . the curve of her haunches . . .

A startled shriek jumped from her mouth when he grabbed rudely at her tail. “Don’t you dare. His blades stabbed into the delicate petals on either side of her rose, ruby droplets mixing with the dew his sick stimulation had coaxed forth. The chocolate-toned femme’s hind legs pushed against the ground as if to launch her forward, away from his advances—but the merciless predator grappled her pelvis between the serrated edges of his jaws, locking her in place.

She bit the inside of her jowl so hard she tasted blood, stubbornly denying her predator the pleasure of hearing the slightest keen leave her lips. Her thoughts raced. Her vision dimmed. Losa struggled to focus on anything, anything other than her tortured nerves or her thundering heart or the slow, hungry strokes of his tongue teasing the quivering edges of her most secret place. A fragile gasp peeled from her muzzle at the initial probe of his wet muscle. Then his tongue pushed into her yielding gates like an eel sliding snugly into its cave—filling her. Manipulating her. And in response, her traitorous body hugged its intruder close, relentless sensation persuading its inner walls to bathe the devil’s ravenously probing tongue with pearly nectar. Easing his invasion. Magnifying each swirling undulation until Losa thought a python had slithered into her abdomen, a writhing twisting mass that made her mad with unwanted, unbidden pleasure. A pressure like scalding steam flooded her chest. She could not crush the aching, mewling sounds that crawled from between her teeth, or the sense of urgency building within her. A sense that the universe were collapsing around her. That she would erupt like a star if this horrible infuriating compression did not find release—

As soon as Losa reached the very precipice of sanity, the serpent-eyed demon ceased his torture, leaving her stranded in the storm he’d conjured between her thighs. The girl sobbed with frustration, gnashing her cutlery together as she hid her tearstained face near her uninjured forelimb. “Monster,” she managed to hiss past her hiccupping cries. She wondered how she did not burst into flames, phoenix-like, from the heat devouring her flesh. Losa sucked in another shaky breath, prepared to spit some other poison, but the slice of his knives over her back turned her voice into a wordless scream. She couldn’t take any more of this. She wouldn’t.

Snarling like a lamia, Losa aimed to roll onto her side and rotate her hips so that she would lay with her spine flat against the earth. If the beast were too slow or too careless, she would batter him with anything she could—hind paws on his stomach, teeth sawing into his chest—anything that would harm him enough to make him leave. If only. If only . . .

lost . . . lost . . . lost . . . my . . . mind

【Daughter of a Dead Pack – pining for none – no ties – no future – LSVK】


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