†
It does not shock him to see the backward slant of her ears or the whip-like lash of her tail. The displeasure in her eyes is likewise expected: who would not be put out at having been chased from one island to the next without so much as a word of how-do-you-do or explanation? His dark gaze holds hers unrepentantly as she stares him down. And, swiftly enough, her ears lift while the scowl previously weighing down the corners of her mouth eases into a smile. There is no hint of self-righteous reprimand in her soft contralto as she flashes a compliment and as quickly revokes her praise.
His eyes flick to the horizon at the mention of the tawny-legged bachelor to be sure they haven't been followed before his attention returns to the lovely stormcloud scudding his way. "Perhaps he let her win," Temblor replies, amused. He found the bachelor to have been a worthy opponent, with no evidence of cowardice and certainly not lacking in skill. To be outmatched by a mare... Temblor imagines she must have witnessed a flirtatious scuffle and so dismisses her belittling remark. Though he has been told of the existence of mare-led herds on these islands, the idea of a mare mimicking a stallion's role is still a foreign concept to him, one he might believe when —if— he sees it.
He snorts lightly at her (teasing?) supposition of shyness. Temblor knows himself to be reserved. Knows, too, that certain mares believe such a trait to be indicative of a lack of passion and prefer the intensity of a more immediately evident fire. Such a flame is usually short-lived, but magma runs deep under the earth. One possessed of persistence is certain to discover that molten core and reap the benefits of its consistent heat.or the detriments
of the volcano,
provoked.
King, she says, the term prompting the slightest twitch from his ears. She says it with familiarity, almost expectation despite how she appears to grope for the word. Temblor would like to know just how many monarchs reign among these islands. Is it one per? Has he competition within the Ridge or the Shore, or does Atlantis's crown rest on the golden brow of Osmanthus? Perhaps a better use of his time this winter would have been in reconnaissance of the territories closest to his own rather than pilfering from those living on the Crossing. And yet, he can hardly regret the turn of today's events.
He chuckles. "You think me shy? I wonder what, then, you must consider bold," he continues, musing. If storming the hypothetical castle and making off with one of its maidens is not bold, he can only imagine what feat would justify the term for her. The slaying of some dragon, perhaps, but to what that might equate in the tangible world he can only guess at. "I am Temblor. Welcome to Paradise, lady...." he lets the sentence hang, waits for her to supply her own name. The adrenaline of the fight has left his system, but an entirely new rush of excitement has begun to flood his veins, encouraged by her apparent lack of disgust with his method of bringing her home. She could be his in more than name......had someone not gotten to her first.
Temblor's eyes flicker over her barrel. "You called him a boy. Is there some other man likely to follow, when he finds you gone?"
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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