a wide-eyed flutter and the violins, they swell : anatole.
Posted by slv. ILIUM on November 13, 2008, 2:14 pm
64.13.13.50
- She's in Desreal, drawn by the darker things there, when she smells smoke and fire. No one close to her burns like this, except maybe Hypatia - but the queen was fire-water, naptha, not the pure flame she senses now. Only Anatole. With the sudden odd glint in her eyes, pale green vines push tentatively from beneath the fallen leaves on the forest floor, reaching to touch her rocky hooves. Need softens her eyes; the ever-present black thorns in her mane and tail relinquish their sharp hold, fading, until the black hair falls in long waves (it hasn't hung like that for months, now, she absently thinks).
- She is cautious as she surges forward into the forest -- but she can hear him now, smell him, hopes it's him -- and she nearly crashes into him when their paths suddenly meet. Then, all at once, she is crashing into him, slamming her muscled chest into his own unapologetically, ignoring the flames that singe her fur. Wildflowers explode in her mane, and crackle gently in the heat, leaving sweet charred perfume on the air. She twines her neck hard around his, seizes his lower neck with unyielding teeth, and tangles her forelegs insistently in his. "You left," she mumbles into him, accusingly, unashamed of her insistent touch, too caught up in the rush of seeing him again to care that they'd never truly declared their feelings.
Well, he's certainly not going anywhere now, not with eleven or twelve hundred pounds of warrior pressed firmly into him.
ILIUM
And the sea with its deepness,
And the rocks with their steepness,
And the earth with its starkness;
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