when i run through the deep dark forest long after this has begun,
It’s not their separate species that draw the two to each other, nor is it even their equine bodies that seem to latch onto each other.
It’s something much deeper (ancient and unnamed) that had caused them to cross paths, and it is something that Dayé is familiar with - it is the same necessity that gave her the closeness with her own lioness mother, and her wolf father. Whatever it is, the wolf-woman could not name it and would never try to do so; the only thing she would do is follow it blindly, like she did today.
The tiger’s laugh (even coming from the dark obsidian and electric blue of Sochi’s mouth) sends a quiet shiver down Dayé’s spine, settling neatly onto her back with a roll of her shoulders and hips. Fearsome sounding yet at the same time commanding, the palomino’s ears flick back slightly in an instinctive manner despite the radiation of warmth that comes from the ebony mare.
Yes.
“Good.”
It is all that comes from her pale honeyed lips in response, her dark brown eyes unwavering as both of the wild women continue to stand before each other. The moment passes quickly and Dayé’s ears return upright, a slight tilt of her chin as the question is now posed to her instead.
Do you?
“Yes,” she replies in seriousness, her long and slender legs pulling her a few steps closer to the tigress, “I do not fight the wolf and in return the wolf does not fight me.” She halts then, lowering her head slightly to view Sochi from the veil of tangled, flaxen tendrils of forelock. There is a few slow blinks, as if Dayé is considering something, before she finally adds: “It is also when I feel the most alive.”
The hunt, the snapping of jaws around soft skin, fresh blood pouring onto her lips and into the gums of her teeth and buds of her tongue, tearing tissue and tendon from sharp, ivory bone - even satiated the mere idea of the hunt begins to increase her heart rate, the sheer thrill of it all enough to flutter the crescent-shape of her nostrils.
Dayé
where the sun would set, trees are dead, and the rivers were none.
@[Sochi]
I love them. :| Sorry, not sorry.