The Kingblade
male | 6 years | 40 inches | 165 pounds | casanova | lone wolf
He cannot be what women seem to need in Moladion - a strong and constant presence at their shoulders. They need tried and true, but what he was was passionate freedom, a love that tested strong against all others. Polyamorous, some might say, temporarily. He is young enough that sowing wild oats did not begat the shamed glances he had seen in adulterers. He owed no allegiances anymore, not even to the Gypsies. Not really. He owed his affections to a few, but not at all did he owe fealty. He fancied that one day he might be loyal to a single woman - but that day is not this one.
And if he cannot promise permanence or more than his singular affections in a manner that was pleasing to Moladion’s social acceptance, then what could he offer but a strong man to father children and a stronger promise to love that woman for all that she was in that moment - and all that she was in uniqueness to him. What was it that made him think these things, to worry about curbing his appetite, with Morrigan? She was not weak, no overly possessive or emotional female in his eyes.
She speaks and dabbles in potentials that mean nothing to him. He cannot live so far in the future as that. It is her agreement to remain with him in the present that keeps him attentive and still standing there instead of dining on the boar. “I won a home to keep those that mattered to me safe. I kept it as long as my spirit would let me - long enough to prove to doubters that I could most certainly stand firm on Mountain earth… but now I am myself again. No obligations, no boundaries or tethers. Tithe welcomes my visitations, so at least there is one more pack open to my wandering feet.”
But she is looking at him with those eyes that make his blood run hot, the eyes of a woman who perhaps does not jest so strongly in the words she uses as she seems to wish to imply. His nostrils quake and his muscles roll beneath black and brown fur. “It is the season that gives me the confidence. Something far grander than a mere title. I know myself and I know what I want. And when I want, I find my way to have it...” Double meanings, though his face remains impassive, offering an out for her to tease away the secondary intent of his words.
He was no rapist, nor one to prey on the females of his kind, but he was not unawares of the season and how it altered her scent. Like silk over an admirers hands, her scent slid along the innards of his nose, testing his resolve to remain in his place. She was his match in this small moment, a little window of seconds that offers them tetherless bonding if they but move forward and within reach of one another. “And now I am free to want what I will, not what leadership would want for me.”
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