"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Out of everything, he was her greatest accomplishment.
She had kept him hidden from prying eyes, guarded him jealousy against others, Eight included. He belonged to her and her alone, and though she had full siblings growing within her, he was the favorite. The proverbial crown jewel; something to be treasured and nurtured and guarded jealously. When she was dust in the earth he would remain, a symbol of powerful blood meeting powerful blood. Her legacy would continue with him.
The raid had taken her from him, and to say she was eager to return was an understatement. Their world had been turned on its end but he was a constant in that upheaval. Like he had once sought the solace of her milk, she now sought the solace of his company. He had always been an uncommonly quiet child, stoic to the point of indifference. But it suited him, and thus, suited her. Where others minds were as open to her as a book, his was an enigma complete with a wall she could not climb. Perhaps, had she pried, she could have gotten through; but she would not suffer him that injustice. After all, he was her greatest thing.
Though she knew he most likely would not hear, she still called for him. It had become her habit to talk to him in a sing-song voice, her words laced with honey and lilac and all things sweet. He was grown now, and surely didn’t need such coddling, but it was a mothers prerogative to treat even her grown children like innocent foals. Had she not viewed him through rose-colored glasses, she would have seen he was anything but innocent. There was a gleam to his eyes that should have nauseated her, a lilt to his voice that should have cooled her blood. But he was her greatest, her everything, and so she only viewed him as such. Not as a wolf hidden behind the cloth of a sheep. As she stepped into the forest, flailing wolf pups at her heels, she called again. They would find each other one way or another.
Topsail
Queen of the Valley
@[Underwood]...so this is weird? I don't even know what's going on here lmao
Her voice is as sweet and as tempting as the gentle trickle of molasses to a starved tongue; something to be revered and savored - and as it reaches him, it envelopes him and sends an unusual shudder along the length of his spine. Very few things rattle him the way that she does, and he has gone far too long without her. The feathers that line his magnificent wings bristle slightly against the gentle breeze that weaves through the heavy foliage, his own heavy heartbeat in line with the pace his powerful legs keep.
Though flight would bring himself to her sooner, he knew that if he elongated the time she spent waiting, the more eager she would be upon his arrival - such a powerful, yet easily manipulated soul, his mother. She doted on him so deeply and adored him so blindingly, she saw little of the malicious prowess within his dark, soulless eyes. He would never do anything to harm her, no - not his precious mother - but the sin-laced thoughts that he kept cloaked within the recesses of his mind were enough to cause even the most resolved to crumble beneath the weight.
Her scent caresses his flesh, and the way it wraps itself around him causes the corner of his wry, whiskered lips to tug up into an uneasy smile. He is no longer a child, but a blossoming, poisonous bloom of testosterone and sinewy muscle. He emerges from the depths of the shadows with a darkness in his eyes as he observes the slender curves of her body, marred by dried streaks of blood and the occasional welt and bruise. The smile twists into a grimace of distaste, and soon a simmering rage bubbles from within, and he moves past her to delicately press his lips to her wounds.
He can taste the sweet metal of her blood, and he can feel the way she flinches beneath his youth. Her scent is not the only one that lingers. Intermingled is the sweat, blood and semen of his own father, and he circles behind her rear end to press the corner of his muzzle along the length of her trembling side. He comes up alongside her, dark eyes meeting with her own. Something remains unspoken, but he touches his cheek to hers, and she is his again. In the end, it is all that matters.
"You are hurt; you know that I do not like to see you in such pain." He murmurs, voice drenching with wickedness. He glances to her ear, which appears pink, hairless - fresh tissue, slowly mending. "Perhaps you should tell me of your assailant so I may tear their own tissue from their flesh."
