Romance is in the air...this is probably the most beautiful and scenic place in Blossom Forest. For the athletic and determined to come with their mates, for time away from pups. Only adults may come here; some of the ledges are too far apart for teens or pups to cross and some too high to scale.
h e a r t . t h r o b IP: 140.254.70.228 Posted on October 18, 2018 at 02:48:04 PM by k i r a s t a s i a
Kirastasia could grieve just like anybody else. Her heart, though malformed and poorly suited for faithfully expressing itself, was capable of feeling the entire vast range of emotions available to wolf-kind - perhaps more so, trading permanence and depth for sensitivity of the rawest kind. Kira rarely stayed angry for long, even when thinking of her hated father. But when fury struck her, the young woman gave herself over to the white-hot burn of rage until it ignited every synapse, devoured all thought, a single-minded entity with molten iron for blood, terrifying in its glory. When she fell in love - no matter how often or how easily - her soul fell with her, and in the moments she gifted her affections she did so earnestly and passionately. Her happy days were bright comets streaking fleetingly across a night sky. One moment she could not get enough of her children - their scent, their warmth, their antics, their laughter - and the next her apathy shifted toward them with the resolute frost of an ice wall. Emotions flowed through her effortlessly . . . water past a sieve . . . and despite their ephemeral nature Kira embraced them wholly. Completely. Yes, she could grieve just like anybody else . . . except the white bird grieved differently, and perhaps that is why it seemed as if she never felt sadness at all.
Drizzt’s death had shattered her. And she knew that he’d died, even though no one had come to Wudubearo’s doorstep to tell her. The vipera damsel had kissed the darling Tempest goodbye, wished him victory in the battle he insisted he needed to fight . . . yet she had not understood the very real danger her knight had plunged into. Vampires? What of them? Kirastasia heard the stories, but she’d also met a lady vamp, and that striking creature had not threatened her, or her newborn pups, at all. Naively Kira envisioned the “war” Drizzt charged toward as little more than a heated bar fight: an argument that would quickly burn itself out once both sides had hurt each other enough. Except Drizzt never came home. Never. She did not catch his scent by the border, nor did she catch his song on the wind, promising to return to her. On a soul-deep level Kirastasia understood that those incredible blue stars would never light upon her again . . . the one whose love she had never needed to struggle for, who only ever looked at her with worship, who’d given her the first litter her womb ever bore . . . had been ripped away. His farewell kiss had truly been a final kiss goodbye. Gone. Forever.
God, how she cried.
Great retching sobs like those of a heartbroken child, unhindered, shameless, until mucus ran from her nose and her eyes were swollen red. Grief snagged itself upon the hole in her heart from which all emotion flowed, a shard of glass caught in its net, and no matter how harshly it sawed into its bindings Kira could not wrest it free. The silver-scaled lady had given her love away to anyone that asked for it as if she were passing out candy - and still she wrecked herself over this one male, this single face among many, and for what? Because he’d had children with her? Because his eyes were pretty? The pups she’d raised with him were nearly grown now, their eyes the same burning heaven-blue as their sire’s . . . and Kirastasia wanted nothing to do with them. With a flip of a coin she transformed her tears into meaningless smiles when they crossed her path to see their half-siblings, and no sooner did the young Tempests leave than Kira collapsed into her misery once more. Thank the moon her most recent pups were still little enough to be easily fooled . . . although if any of the mutant darlings did catch their mother weeping brokenly by herself, they never disturbed her. All the better. Perhaps seeing their mother shift through false happiness and anguish on a dime would only terrify them.
Only disaster in Wudubearo managed to shake the pain of Kirastasia’s grief from its hook. Once it became dreadfully obvious that the pack would need to evacuate, the ivory princess shed her desolation the same way a snake shed its skin. That’s what Kahlan had accused her once of being, right? A treacherous serpent? And there, of course, lay the ultimate balm to a broken heart: her Kah. Kira understood now, better than ever, why the earthen queen had attempted to lock her heart within a grave of stone. Although that grave had been exhumed, the coffin hiding Kahlan’s true self still bearing the ruthless claw-marks of Kira’s persistence, the ex-healer continued to waver on a fine line of feeling and escaping. Wounds yet bled in Kah’s chest, their eschar cracked and tender at the edges. “Love her” - that had been the command Henny gave her, trapped in the fractured puzzle of Kahlan’s mind. And Kirastasia did love Kahlan, more than words could describe, more than she’d loved anyone else, more than she’d wanted anyone else, and maybe that obsession was a sickness that had harmed Kah in the first place, but now this hopeless adoration acted as a new guiding constellation in Kirastasia’s life where Drizzt’s star no longer shone. Maybe Kah did not yet realize it . . . but she had always been Kira’s One. The very center of a web that appeared to seek any warm body, any welcoming bed, a Goddess who did not know her power. When the two faes had crashed together - when Kirastasia had finally splintered Kahlan’s facade and their passion flowed like lava between them - it was as though Drizzt and all the others had never even existed. There was only the intoxicating perfume of Kahlan’s luxurious fur, only the sweet heat of her breath, only the honeyed wetness of her ambrosia on Kira’s tongue.
The citizens of Wudubearo had kept loosely together, more or less united as they trickled from the border and into the freelands. Kirastasia tucked her children away in safe hiding places while she hunted, always keeping them well-fed, sometimes leaving them for more than a day to explore by herself . . . or seek out Kahlan. Ever since their ardent coupling, the alabaster lass had felt positively lecherous from even a glance at her paramour’s intelligent golden gaze, the curve of her hips enough to make Kira salivate. The autumn-hued empress did not need to ask Kirastasia twice to meet her in a secluded area of Fir Chilis. Kahlan merely had to mention the destination, and the snowy huntress instantly agreed. Winter had stripped her of her scales, yet Kira slipped with the grace of the boa she’d been Blessed by past naked trees, pulse thundering with anticipation. Her lover’s scent threaded around her like a noose, pulling her onward. Quicker. Closer. She did not bother with muffling her approach; her paws crushed mummified leaves with abandon; her breath smoked into a bloodless fog about her, wreathing her newly tiger-striped face. It took all Kirastasia’s fragile self-control not to break into a run once her amber lanterns found Kahlan’s shape among the skeletal branches, her heart soaring at the sight of that lovely cinnamon pelt against a dreary backdrop of ashen grey.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, lovely thing.” Kira’s voice was a husky purr as she strode boldly onward, pushing impatiently past the brittle limbs of bushes and fallen branches. Her lips parted to drink in the mouthwatering flavor of Kahlan’s heat, eyelids fluttering in barely veiled ecstasy. Impatient, the brindle brutale brushed her cheek across Kah’s elegant face, nosing the fur at the corner of her jaw, before sliding back press a rushed kiss against the broken she-wolf’s muzzle. “What shall we do first? I believe we’re in a private enough place . . . how should I worship you this time?” More caresses of her tongue down Kahlan’s throat, nipping up and down the dusky canvas.