She had almost touched him; her whiskers fondled his coat, but their skin never met. Part of her is afraid. She has never touched a stallion; their warmth and their strength beneath her lips is a mere figment of her imagination. While there lies a great lust (ever building, ever growing) thrumming in her veins to feel a male, she doesn’t crumble in the face of her temptation. A greater part of her savors the idea of being untouchable, of being a virgin Queen. She hasn’t been marked or forced into subordination by the opposite sex. They – Stillwater and Lior – stare hungrily in her direction, but she doesn’t sate their desires (or hers). Let them suffer and groan, wishing they could have her beneath them wanting more.
That’s when he reaches for her neck, but she withdraws just enough so that only his whiskers scrape along her coat. ”I’ve never touched a stallion,” she isn’t quite sure why she admits this to him or why she is able to say it so nonchalantly despite the curious rush of blood through her veins. ”I’m sure that’s a first,” the airy laughter that floats past her lips is a beautiful sound, but it’s so rare that Nayl startles herself and falls immediately quiet. ”I’m actually sixteen years old, but I guess that’s the beauty of immortality,” she pauses after having realized how long it has been since she first breathed in the Jungle and saw her father. ”I’ve never been in a rush to do anything.” As though she has to justify herself to him and explain why she can’t throw herself at him.
But the focus does not remain on her for long (nor would she allow herself to dwell on her trivial shortcomings) as she turns her fiery eyes to the beach and ocean beyond. ”Welcome home, Lior,” this is his now, just as he is hers. Nayl shudders in desire, wanting so bad to claim him and to forever keep him, but she doesn’t make the mistake to reach toward him again – not yet. ”You won’t be alone here, unless that is your wish." But she hopes that it wouldn’t be, and that he would choose her company above all others.
Nerine is almost forgotten when she peers up at him. For a fleeting moment Nayl loses herself in his gray eyes as they, in turn, drink her in. They are drunk on each other, but it’s she that composes herself faster and takes a single step away. Although they hadn’t been touching, it still seems odd to have space between them. The wind – so salty and warm – cradles their empty sides and yet there is a coldness that runs along the side of her body. Would it be considered weak to fold herself into him? It crosses her mind, but her hooves remain buried in the white sand, rooting her in place as she mulls over his reciprocated question. ”There isn’t much to tell,” or so she thinks as her life replays in her mind. ”I was born into the sisterhood of the Jungle; it’s all I’ve ever known. My parents died when I was young, and I only had my sisters to cope, but I was in and out of their ranks. All I knew was that the Jungle was home.” It was more than she cared to admit, but the truth spilled from her mouth in relentless waves, unable to be stopped by her better judgment.
While the sense of vulnerability coats her, she can’t help but ask a simple question that carries far more weight than anything else she has said. ”Would you ever betray me, Lior?” Would he let slip her secrets, her stories, her plans?
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