[mature] A beautiful face is a mute recommendation - Longclaw

[Longclaw]

LONGCLAW

-I close my eyes, ignore the smoke-

A lioness, then?

The fur along the ridge of his spine bristles in response to the flash of the predator’s bone-white teeth and for the first time in a while, Longclaw feels the thrill of a good challenge. His own lips part, pulling taught over pink gums to expose a set of fangs all his own, and the blue warg hisses right back. The she-cat is agile, clearly hungry and willing to ignore the spires of flame that quiver in his eye sockets - but no matter, he’s squared and ready for the tawny beast.

“Let her come; the taste of fire will fill her belly to the brim.” He thinks wildly, crouching stiffly in anticipation of her attack. He’s surprised, initially; it was a weak move, trying to take down larger prey directly head-on … almost as if the big cat had no idea what she was doing. But Claw has little time to think because she’s leapt and he’s decided that’s the moment to set his gift free.

The flame explodes from all sides, as if bursting from the epicenter of his body, and her claws rake along the ridge of his blue withers as she flies over him. The two of them clash and tumble apart, turn on skidding hooves and paws to face each other again and Claw is ready to blast that bitch straight off the ground and into the burnt crisp of nothingness -

But he pauses.

He’s not sure why: her hesitation is his opportunity and in any other situation he would have taken that one second of her faltering confidence to engulf her in flame but … there’s something odd about her. Something that tugs on him internally and rouses the wolf from his slumber. It’s ancient magic - the second souls of their bodies calling out to one another, identifying each other as ‘kin’ - something that keeps their kind from doing exactly what they’re doing now; hunting and killing one another.

Panting, shoulders slick with crimson blood, Longclaw watches her shift from the proud stature of an apex predator to that of a softer, much more familiar shape. “Marigold?!” He rasps incredulous, taking an unexpected step backwards once she’s prostrate and trembling before him. Her eyes, a dark teak and filled with terrified longing, fly to his own and he grows weak in the knees. “Oh, Marigold.” He breathes, rushing forward again to curl down into the earth beside her.

Blue against gold, light against dark, he cradles her beside him and tries hard to suppress the proud grin that stretches wickedly over his lips as he presses them again and again to her sweat-soaked skin. “You were wrong to slink away, I’m sure you were terrified and trapped deep in there.” He chuckles softly, nudging the fluttering rise of her shimmering chest. “Shh, calm yourself. I’m here now. I’m here.” The stallion croons, feeling very much like a child who’s opened a christmas present early.

How delightfully fascinating! Carnage must have been rolling with laughter at this little practical joke of his, but Claw cannot be more satisfied with the outcome. His little mute left as a canary and returned as a lion - all his for the keeping and all his for the training. “I know you’re confused but don’t worry, my little bird. Soon everything will be alright and you’ll never fear anything again.”

@[Diorae]