Interesting,

It was almost like fate for the mercenary to awaken to such a thing as a female who fears nothing, or appears to fear nothing. He draws nearer to her now, the beast’s nose brushing along those light hairs right before her flesh. He rumbles, a sound content with the reply she grants him. A gypsy, a wanderer without a title or a claim. This, he likes. It explains the numerous scent’s upon her light pelt. So, she is one that comes and goes? Now this part, he does not partially agree with. His rumble lifts, transforming into a short growl. Eyes shift back to face her though face remains intent upon her shoulder.

He remembers of a time during his past rule, of a dame he called Moira. Such an unpleasant fae she was but to him, she was pleasant enough. A strong femme with a determination to succeed. His right hand, and yet, she was not enough for the monster here. Too many failed attempts and not enough success. A good fighter, not a good producer. Their time was short and for that reason she came and she went until the last time she came she brought the needed amount of power to take down such a thing as he.

Another story for another time.

The night grows, slowly. Steam falling from their warm bodies against the cool air. The ghoul’s salivates, liquid pooling in those jaws of his and falling onto the broken earth that is called Moladian. “tell me,” he demands, dark voice sliding out as he presses his face into her pelt, daring her to retreat from his grasp or to lash out. Lashing out would be the smarter choice, leaving or bowing would make him sick with disgust and he might end life there.

Cool nose finds flesh amongst the hairy jungle of her body, jaw opening slightly to place a sharp nip upon her flesh. Forgive his boldness, he has no fear of repercussions.

“do you have fears, gypsy?” because he does, he fears staying in this land, collecting dust.