WOLFBANE
Who’s to say what the echoes of Wishbone’s last moments might have done for him … perhaps in time they could’ve brought a sense of peace, while in the present they might have disturbed his sleep and certainly upset the gentle, unlabeled relationship that was blossoming here, now. It still wouldn’t give answer to the myriad questions of why that are disturbing enough for Bane. He can only wish emptily that the whiskey-colored mare had at least come to him for a goodbye; certainly he thinks himself worth that, at least.
“Good.” He contemplates in silent response to the knabstrup's answer, expecting nothing less really. Clearly she was a mare grown with her own set of means, not looking for a white knight to solve her problems for her. The Leviathan way through and through. That same spark of rebellious independence (his achilles heel when it came to the opposite gender, sadly) glints in her dark eyes as she shifts away, but he doesn’t protest or offer to draw her back with the curve of his wing.
Wolfbane enjoys watching Breckin come alive; even more so that he should be the reason for it. “Seems as if I’m indebted to you.” The drake hums, husky with a newfound desire, “Firstly I’d like to beg your forgiveness -” His breath hitches, skin tingling where she trails lines of fire over his chest, “- and secondly I’d like to formally annoy you, not just randomly happen across you in the common lands or my home.”
Now he does reach for her again, bold as only a young, self-sure stallion could be, to drag the fine points of his predatory teeth just so over her lovely, spotted neck. “Take a night off and give it to me, instead.”
|| The Pirate Lord of Loess ||
@[Breckin]