The Name of the Game [Goliath]

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Was this what dying was like? Datura had been paddling desperately for over an hour, perhaps two, but the journey felt like an entire day’s span to the wolf in the sea. The current carried her away from the mainland, away from the two-legged foes that pursued her, farther away from everything she had ever known. She would never be taken lying down. Death would be a welcome alternative to being captured. The fae had never seen the ocean, but by the time the exhausted wolf dragged her dripping body onto a new shore, she thoroughly despised the vast sea. The taste of salt lingered on her tongue, chestnut hued eyes stinging and blurry from the long swim from the mainland to... this. Whatever this was. Weak limbs struggled as Datura pulled herself away from the surf until she was a safe distance from the lapping waves. Then, she allowed herself to collapse, the sand warm against her empty belly. She was too tired to move, resting her chin on her pale forepaws.

The sun traveled in a slow, lazy arch overhead, drying the female’s pelt as her aching muscles recovered from the swim.  Her fur, a mixture of dark cream, hues of gray, and sable, looked unkempt, giving the fae a wild appearance.  After a long, undisturbed rest, Datura finally rose to her worn paws, head swiveling as she took in her new surroundings. She had no idea where she was, or even what an island was. Instead, she assumed the current had taken her to another part of the mainland beach. Perhaps if she followed her nose, she could find her way back to somewhere vaguely familiar.  She stretched her long limbs and gave her pelt a shake, a wide yawn parting her jaws.  Now was not the time for a long nap, despite her utter exhaustion.

Anxious brown eyes scanned the beach, onyx nostrils searching the scant breeze for any hint of lupine scent. Every sense was dulled by the ocean waves, pounding the shore. Datura had to get away from the sound and the foul tasting water she now despised, but the beach was bordered by a tall, imposing cliff that looked impossibly tall and daunting. Datura possessed no knowledge of the wolf lore that existed in Anikira – to her, it was not Zozyr’s Glory, but an immense, seemingly endless cliff that now seemed unavoidable. The gods of the local packs meant nothing to Datura. Gods were useless to a wild creature like her. If such a thing existed, why had they allowed her to come this far alone? No. Datura knew deep down that every living creature was ultimately alone, without a golden benefactor keeping watching over their lives.

Salmon-colored tongue lolled from Datura’s mouth as she took a few tentative steps down the sandy beach in search of a path up the hillside. Fresh water was imperative, her mouth felt as dry as a desert, despite the surrounding ocean. Her right ear, the one missing its tip (thanks to an encounter with an overly eager brute two months prior) twitched, her muscles tensed, preparing for the long climb. At least it seemed as if this place wasn’t occupied by others of her species. The moment she allowed herself to feel some semblance of calm, however, a scent caught her attention. Datura froze in her steps, a forepaw still dangling in midair. She knew she was in no condition to fight, but she didn’t cower, nor did she tuck tail and flee the scene. Instead, she held her head high, feigning dignity, despite her status as a loner. Only one scent greeted her flaring nostrils, unmistakably male, but not an entire pack to contend with. This didn’t mean she was safe, but with just one brute, maybe it would be easier to talk her way out of a battle. ”Who's there? Show yourself.” Her voice was low, tense, with a hint of impatience lurking in her feminine tone.

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Despite his massive size, Goliath was well hidden amongst the slate grey backdrop of the cliffs, his fur a seamless mess of darkened steel and ash that camouflaged his position, slightly elevated above the perplexed femme. His frame, held still, may as well have been a solid boulder of monolithic proportions, unmoving and undetectable to her disoriented eye, save for the pale, iridescent blue of his irises that revealed his location, watching her with sharp intent. His gaze followed her, watching her ordeal with mild intrigue – how the waves gnawed at her and spat her upon the frothy sand; how her body, weakened by fatigue, wobbled to stand in a final bid to reclaim dignity from the gelid waters, and how she approached the cliffs with uncertain eyes in restless search for refuge. Her sodden body had all the grace and poise of a drowned rat, the retained water thinning her already petite frame. The brute’s dark lips trembled as he refrained from licking his jowls in curiosity, not wanting her eyes to be drawn to him out of vigilance.

She walked along the beach, her body held in tense wariness. She was inherently defensive – clever girl – and seemed to be examining the steep cliffs as though a convenient exit might present itself to her. Goliath’s face shadowed in amusement, knowing that she would find no such thing; the daunting precipices were far from welcoming, nor did they greet foreigners with safeguard to the mainland of Anikira. These cliffs were meant to kill any fool who might attempt to traverse them in blind despair.

He observed the female in silence, noticing her gait pause as though struck by a cold revelation. He lowered his head, his eyes barely discernible to her amongst the rocky crags; she could sense him, he was sure, and he reveled in her discontent.

“Who’s there? Show yourself.”

She had quite the mouth on her. The colossal brute chose not to move, although his gaze narrowed at her voice; a timbre too low for such a small thing. He’d imagined her voice to sound fair and feeble, and the braveness underlying her demand caused a growl to nettle from the deep pit of his chest. She attempted to command him - a reckless endeavor, but one he would reciprocate. He was upwind, so she would inevitably find his location sooner or later… if she only cared to look up.

“Oh, my - you’ve caught me.” His voice was needlessly loud and his remark was as dry as a sun-charred carcass. The smirk in his words was undeniable as he feigned surrender. She wanted him to show himself – and he would oblige her as any astute male would. He lifted himself to his feet and allowed his large body, almost arrogant in its sheer size, to stretch in unhurried leisure, blatantly telegraphing his strength in attempt to quell her confidence. His gaze remained on her, and an eerie silence accompanied his descent from his marginally higher position amongst the sharp crags. A few rocks crumbled from under his weight and scattered down upon the sand, but his footing remained steady as he approached. He allowed some distance to remain between them, not wanting to advance upon her and possibly instigate a flight from her – not that she was in any state to do so. It was clear that she was famished, and though she might attempt to harden her stance or hone her stare, nothing could distract from her blatant fatigue.

“I beg that you have mercy, little one. Your wrath is positively… chilling,” his voice rumbled, equally as low as hers, but far more formidable. His head was held up to further extend his height above her, and its leonine position asserted authority even though it was shamelessly apparent who held the high ground. His posture dared for her to further goad him. He anticipated, and rather hoped, that her impudence was quick to turn to dread.

WORDS: 659 | MUSE: Good | TAGGED: @datura
OOC: Bring it, biatch.

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Her decision to speak out was brash, and she was well aware of the fact. Maybe, if she was fortunate and played her cards right, her posture and the tone of her voice would indicate to the stranger that she was someone worthwhile, someone to respect, if not fear. In this place, no one knew who she was. No one had any inkling of her origins or her troubled past, something she was deeply ashamed of. Her history was a topic Datura would never speak of to another living soul, at least not honestly. Her tail remained rigid behind her stiff form – she wasn’t submissive, nor was she dominant. No – she was ready, preparing herself mentally and physically for what was to come next, and her bleary eyes narrowed in the direction of the masculine voice that answered her call. As she had suspected, it was indeed a male, but in her dazed state, she was not prepared for what she was about to see. A dark figure descended from his place upon the cliff.

The moment the other showed his presence, the female’s chestnut eyes widened in surprise, and she instinctively took a step back. Her mouth fell open in utter shock, her mask of ambivalence fading away as a chill ran up her spine, despite the heat of the afternoon. ”Oh... my.” She echoed his words, but her voice had lost the boldness it had possessed only seconds before. The fae’s regret was instantaneous. Without contest, the hulking brute before her was the largest wolf she had ever encountered. He was huge! Her eyes roamed his powerful body – even from a fairly safe distance, she knew he was far bigger than she was. It was impossible to miss the ripple of muscle beneath his pelt, a mixture of ashy hues and pure white.

Within seconds, however, she caught herself and suppressed her surprised, fearful expression. Her lip curled back to bare her front teeth. Any show of defensiveness was useless, she knew, but her eyes locked with his icy blue orbs, hackles raised to show that she would not go down without a fight. Datura knew running away would only make the situation worse, since it could easily be construed as an invitation to follow. She was not yet in season, but that was only a minor detail to any brute that was hungry for more than flesh.

He carried himself with the air of an alpha, but his scent was still the only one lingering in the vicinity. If this one commanded a pack of his own, the rest were all far away, or else he was a loner, too. Datura’s stare was intense, unwavering, but she was no fool. What chance did she stand trying to stand up to someone so massive? His size was both impressive and intimidating. By comparison, Datura felt miniscule, weak, but she would not let her fear show again, even when he had the audacity to call her little one. The deep baritone of his voice made the fae quiver inexplicably. Her snarl was cut short as it rumbled in her throat, but her ears remained pressed back flat against her skull. Her was mocking her... And since he was easily twice her size, it was his prerogative to do so. It must be nice to be a male and to be so big, she thought to herself bitterly.

Oh no. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her terrified any longer. Her head remained lifted high as she snorted. The femme did her best to assume a position that hinted that she was not feeling all that threatened, but it was all a bluff. Ignoring his taunts, she spoke again. Her eyes never strayed from his. ”What is this place?” Or, more importantly... ”Do you claim these lands?” Datura was in no rush to fill the space between the two. She didn't move an inch, waiting instead to see what the male would do next.

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Datura’s fearful reception truly indulged the impending brute – he was well aware that his size was abnormal, but to be reminded that his presence was so daunting was a shameless treasure in its own merit. Her warm, golden eyes journeyed across his body as though every additional inch was a torment to observe, and her brief fascination was a great appeasement to his proportionately massive ego. Watching her self-assurance deteriorate with each of his oncoming steps, Goliath suppressed the urge to grin in barefaced conceit, instead keeping his gaze cold and undeterred. The words that first left her mouth were quiet, and sent a placated thrill from his withers to tailbone. At first, he believed that this female must have been meek-willed to revert so hastily from bold to timid; the thought of lowering his tail and softening his glare occurred to him, tempered by her sweet response, but that thought was soon forsaken when her attitude, again, changed.

It was clear that the femme felt shamed by her own hasty boldness, though her startled expression swiftly toughened into something more intentional in nature. Her mouth contorted to bare her teeth – a sudden change that both surprised and infuriated Goliath, his own lips immediately pulling back to reveal the glistening teeth encased within his robust set of jaws. His blackened hackles bristled to mirror hers, and a short snarl resounded from his throat to warn her that he regarded her hostility as a cause for argument.

“Put your teeth away, bitch – or put them to use. Bluffing is of no aid to either of us.” His accompanying snarl forced his words to sound edged by a challenge, but this was not his intention. He saw no true competition in her – at least, not in her current state – and as such, his dominance came as an ill-mannered habit rather than from the desire to claim her. He let his lips slacken into an impassive line to emphasize his suggestion that she do the same.

He stepped forward once, twice – and began circling her with his head lowering to further inspect the condition that she was in. She was, indeed, vastly smaller than he – a ludicrous sense of allure drew his eyes upon every facet of her compactness; the slender rise from her stomach to her hips, the slope of her spine, the slight protrusion of ribs when her breath strained against her. His mouth opened ever so faintly, inhaling and tasting her delicate scent upon his tongue. His pale eyes harshly narrowed upon her as she snorted, ears twitching in ire at her strong voice and the composure she was showing. So, she did not fear him? That would change.

What she’d first said had eluded him, his attention drawn on her body rather than on her words, but as she quickly moved onto her second question, it must have been merely a rhetorical query. His brows raised in amusement at her assumption, a logical one to make – though his countenance remained imposing as his menacing stare wavered from eye to eye. “Any ground that I might stand upon is claimed as my own, but in the sense that you speak of – no.”

He stopped circling her and stood tall, his tail caught between a half-wag and an upward curve. “Every wolf to ever stand at my side has met their end. I do not mourn them, nor do I have an interest in having others follow their place.” His tone was blatantly frank, but it was an honest one, and despite the unnerving enjoyment in his expression, his words were not laced by deception or cruelty. Living in a pack did not appeal to him. It was true, he’d belonged to a pack at some point in his life, and now they no longer existed. It was the mercy, and cold reality, of nature.

“Do not ask anything else from me, or I assure you’ll find your end nearby as well,” he cautioned her, his eyes turning instead to the lurching waves that she had emerged from. It had been a rare and curious sight to see such a creature collapse onto the beach like a damned thing revolting against death’s grip. It was admirable in some ways, that he had even survived at all; although why the sea chose to spit her out instead of savouring her taste was beyond him. He was sure he would not have the same restraint when indulging in even a morsel of her. His gaze fell upon the small female once again, knowing there was something vastly more absurd in her story than she was yet to tell.

“A wolf driven to the water is a wolf running from something. What was it.” His voice was commanding and his tone did not lift harmlessly in question – it sounded more like an interrogation, her choice to answer entirely removed from the situation. Her response needed to convince him, as he was a wolf who notoriously detested being deceived.

WORDS: 833 | MUSE: Potato | TAGGED: @datura

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The tension in the air was palpable. Without invitation, the large male came sauntering closer to Datura, intensity burning in his icy blue orbs, his head craning downward to look at the much smaller fae. Her heart was beating furiously within her chest, and any self-assurance she had possessed now dissipated into an uncertain growl that was promptly returned. The brute’s snarl carried consequence, his accompanying words sharp and merciless. Bitch. He spoke with such disdain. How charming. The she-wolf relaxed her thin black lips after the other did the same, her ivory canines vanishing from sight. She gritted her teeth as she resisted every urge to retaliate. Who did this one think he was?

She was shaking, she realized, though she couldn’t say whether it was from rage or utter exhaustion. It was a wonder she was still standing in her depleted shape. Hold it together, she urged herself inwardly as she straightened her posture, head held impossibly high, but she was still nowhere near his impressive stature. Any subtle movement would be detected by the other, and she was not willing to give him that satisfaction – though the expression on the male’s face as he stepped closer still indicated that he would take his twisted gratification where he could find it, with or without consent.

The fae could feel his eyes exploring her feminine physique. His icy stare made her feel even smaller, somehow, as if she was shrinking into the sand beneath their paws beneath his powerful gaze. He was like a vulture, circling around their fallen target, just waiting for the right moment to descend on their prey. She choked back another low growl, her swelling fear threatening to get the better of her. The severity of the situation was not lost on the fae. There would be no escaping this one with a smart mouth and sharp tongue. Her questions were promptly ignored, which frustrated Datura, but she had no choice but to keep her maw shut tightly, or else risk further raising the brute’s ire.

She was slightly surprised to learn that he wasn’t an alpha, despite his hulking stature, thick muscle, and dominant air, but at least there was not a gang of others nearby that were willing to follow and obey this brute’s whims and wishes. Perhaps there were no other wolves in the vicinity at all to contend with? The female was less surprised when he shared the fact that any semblance of a pack or family he once had were all dead now. Despite the startling statistic, Datura’s face remained placid. This news scared her less than the male’s uncomfortably close proximity to her, a creature who made every effort to avoid others.

Briefly, she wondered what happened to his pack. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he was the one responsible for any number of gruesome crimes, including those committed against his own kin. She could only venture to guess that from the sheer size of the brute, there wasn’t much that could stop him from doing anything he damn well pleased, a luxury that Datura did not share.

After a moment of tense silence, the fae cleared her parched throat. So he wanted to know what she was running from. Well, she could tell him what she was not returning to. They had at least one thing in common, it seemed. “Everyone I know is dead,” she commented, her voice even, with no hint of feeling. ”Except you, naturally.” Her head jerked, giving a curt nod in his direction. If she had her way, he would be joining the rest of his departed brethren that day, but they were no longer playing be her rules. Her expression lacked any visible emotion, even as she spoke of her dead family. Learning how to ignore those sad impulses, to carefully tuck away any feelings was essential to survival. One couldn’t lie down and give up every time someone important to them left the world of the living. It was the job of the living the carry on, and carrying on was a hell of a lot easier when emotions were left in the dust.

She was prepared to allow the waves to swallow her whole when she entered the sea. Now, this brute looked ready to do the same. No one would know she was gone, much less care. He had threatened her life with such ease, but her life was only valuable to herself, and her head was spinning. It took every ounce of will power to force herself to sit back on her haunches, tail curling tightly around her. Maybe this act of submission would appease the brute. They both knew who possessed the power here, and it was not Datura. For a second or two, she contemplated lying in reponse to his inquiry, since it was really none of his concern where she had come from, or why. But there was something in his serious stare that told her he would know, somehow. His eerie blue eyes would see that she was hiding something when she didn’t really have anything to hide from the stranger. ”I was evading the cruelest beasts,” she responded vaguely, unwilling to utter the word human aloud – something she considered even worse than her own kind.

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Keenly noting the quavering of the female’s pelt, Goliath recognised with a mirthful snicker that this creature’s bravery was all but a fallacy; his tongue flicked tortuously over his already wetted lips, much in the manner of snake tasting its prey’s pheromones and convoyed fear. As she leveled her posture and righted herself, his brows skewed in intrigue. Even at the brink of distress she was attempting to recoup her dignity – Goliath could not begrudge her of that, and so his stare lucidly thawed, his eyes becoming half-lidded and shedding their lethal intent.

She was a strange one; fearful but bold, a typical paradox. His ears flicked in curio as her voice cleared gruffly, obviously having been trapped in sheer awe of him. “Everyone I know is dead,” she stated offhandedly, and her impassive voice was mirrored in the impassivity of his stare. Any decent wolf would have lowered their eyes in sombre consolation, but instead he watched her without a flicker of change drawing light into his deadpan gaze. It was clear, however, that she did not care for condolences, as the heavy irony underlying her next statement removed any sadness from what she had just shared. “Except you, naturally.”

Goliath’s sudden laughter was rather tactless and crude, given what she had only just shared, but he cared little for sparing her feelings. He rather enjoyed the sarcasm in her voice, mocking both of their bleak situations, any he believed that if any being had the right to laugh, it was his sole right to do so. “You should be thankful that I am here – if you wish to find your way from this beach, that is.”

His voice was lacking smugness, instead being pragmatic and absent concern. As she lowered her rump to the sand, his eyes narrowed at her now submissive stance, but his own rigid posture did not slacken. Datura was silent for some time, and what she spoke of next confounded him. Her words were ambiguous and caused an airy snort to rile from the back of his throat, not in ridicule, but in cynicism. What creature was crueler and more wild than a wolf? Unless she was referring to beasts that dwell in the mind – a torment all too familiar to his own quandary.

For now, he did not question her any further, though he did not plan on leaving the topic untouched altogether; his attention quickly turning to another matter. The actuality of his situation was simple – though he did not wish for the chaos of belonging to a pack, his dislike for company was more myth than anything pre-decided by him. In truth, he had entertained the idea of finding a companion, but his lack of conviction to venture into the world in search had left him alone - until now. Perhaps this was an intervention from the great god Fenrir; a she-wolf sprawling out from the sea on the very day he decided to bask in the shade of Zozyr’s Glory. Whether fate or luck had any hand in this, he would not waste this opportunity any more that he would abandon a fresh kill thrown at his feet.

His gaze roved over her casually seated stance, and his head shook condemningly, closing the gap between them with such haste in his long stride that she would barely have had the chance to flinch, let alone move out of his path. His snout pushed forcefully against her side as though willing her to stand, his nostrils flaring at their proximity to her salt-ridden fur. “Do not sit, little one. You are not staying here.” His voice was brusque, though without hostility, despite the aggression of his encroachment. It was clear that his understanding of personal space was shamefully limited, his advancement upon her without softness or regard for her alarm.

“How is it that you plan on finding food and refuge from here? An enormous cliff separates you from Anikira,” he allowed his fair eyes to scale upwards, emphasising the daunting height of the vast wall that encompassed the beach from both sides. It was possible to traverse the stone monolith, if one knew the path – otherwise a single misstep could result in falling down to rows upon rows of sharp, rocky outcrops.

His stare returned to her. “Of course, you could always walk the length of the beach to where the Nytyte River feeds into the mainland – or perhaps you’ll be met by even more cliffs, and a dead end. It depends on if you venture North or South.” He looked up and down the beach with blatant amusement gleaming in his irises’ cerulean depths, accentuating the fact that both directions stretched for miles – either way could promise either hope or imminent death for the weakened she-wolf. “Your decision must be made soon, as the evening will see this beach swallowed by the tide, and I doubt the waves will have mercy on you twice.”

The riddle he posed was cruel, as a wrong decision could cause her to lose her life – unless, of course, she conceded her brash nature and implored his help, a feat that would require a great deal of humility on her part. 

WORDS: 867 | MUSE: Okay | TAGGED: @datura
OOC: Not my best post, but something is better than nothing at all!

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The other’s precipitous laugh broke the strained silence. A furrowed brow arched questioningly over one orb, her head cocking to the left as she absorbed his unusual response. Curiously, there was nothing in the fae’s demeanor that indicated outrage, despite the male’s inappropriate reaction to learning that her entire clan had been wiped out. Indeed, of all of the things that bothered her about this brute, his insensitivity seemed to disturb her less than one might expect. Most creatures would defend the memory of their fallen comrades. Datura was not most creatures. She couldn’t afford to waste time and thought on the dead, though they still haunted her dreams frequently. Their bulging eyes, the foam spilling from mouths twisted open in horror and agony...

You should be thankful that I am here... Now it was the fae’s turn to voice her misplaced amusement, parting her thin black lips in a choked guffaw. She cast the hulking brute an incredulous look. But she knew his assertion was true – either she paid heed, or she gave in to her aching limbs. The latter was not an option. Survival was a game that Datura did not intend to lose, no matter what it took to come out on top. He knew this area, and she did not. If the tables were turned, if she was the massive brute instead and he was the helpless female, she sincerely doubted he would last a day. He was all muscle and impertinence.

Her attempt to placate the brute by sitting proved to be in vain. As fast as the blink of an eye, he was there at her side, and she felt his touch before she could shrink away from the enormous beast. Ebony pupils remained dilated despite the female’s efforts to appear unperturbed in the face of the giant, silently expressing the uncertainty she could not abandon in his presence. His scent filled her onyx nostrils, curiously intoxicating and infuriating, and then she could smell nothing but the brute. The overbearing salty stench of the sea faded like a shadow into the background of her periphery, overpowered by his musky scent. Still, she didn’t budge – this time, not due to her obstinacy, but because her fatigue would soon be overwhelming.

Her glaring chocolate oculars did not follow his pale sapphire gaze when he indicated the cliffs that dominated the area. The fae was already well aware of the formidable escarpment that bordered the sandy beach, keeping her imprisoned there, along with this character. He stated the obvious, cruelly pointing out the glaring severity of the female’s situation. ”An enormous cliff? I hadn’t noticed that yet,” she muttered under her breath. A brief flutter of mischief in her eyes matched her sarcastic comment, but she didn’t smile. She didn’t move away, either. An impassive attitude was the only ace in her deck.

If she followed the path of the sun as it began its slow descent towards the western horizon, then north should be over there... No, that way had to be south. Or maybe... Her muddled thoughts ruminated chaotically inside of her skull as she attempted to make sense of where she was and where she intended to go, but the crash of waves and the close proximity of the brute were disorienting. Her stomach was empty, save for the gulps of salt water she had unintentionally ingested during her escape. Dizzy, Datura felt as if she was either about to lose consciousness or lose her stomach contents all over the large male’s oversized paws. The brute did not insinuate which direction would lead Datura to the river, and it stood to reason that he could be lying about the existence of this so-called Nytye River. Her fur bristled when she saw the mirth painted plainly across his masculine countenance, but she bit down hard on her lip to keep herself from growling in frustration.

If his intent was to see the female suffer, there was nothing to stop him from striking. If he was looking to fulfill other urges, then he was barking up the wrong tree, since Datura was not receptive to breeding, and her scent alone should have indicated as much to the young male. At least for that... Finally, the she-wolf knew it was time to swallow her pride. Finally, she gave a feeble nod as she capitulated. She was in need guidance in this strange place, and if he had no plans to tear her diminished body to shreds, then... Well, maybe the brute would be prove to be useful.

Her weight shifted back to her forepaws as she eventually plucked herself up from her sandy seat. The ragged femme swayed noticeably as her legs shuddered, nearly revolted beneath her. Every appendage threatened to succumb to her weakened condition, but she willed herself to remain firm, to stay standing, even though all of her energy reserves had been spent. ”Show me.” Her voice had softened considerably, and a resigned sigh escaped her lungs, but she couldn’t feign a smile. A mutilated ear flicked as she inched closer to the stranger who would be her saving grace, concealing a grimace from her muzzle. She loathed him, but she would follow.


Word Count: 868
Tag: @zenith
OOC: Psshh, your post was marvelous, as usual!

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As the female chuckled at his smug remark and looked at him with unconvinced eyes, he let his jowls open in a lazy, albeit cruel, smile; she thought him insincere, but what he had said was true. Or… perhaps she did know, and she was laughing to save face. Regardless, she was likely going to die in her enfeebled state if she didn’t make it off the beach soon, elsewise be swept back into the encroaching tide – so she was really only laughing at her own demise. His smile broadened chillingly, his harshly close proximity making his enjoyment all the more depraved.

He was pleased that she did not recoil from his vigourous touch, but considerably less pleased that she did not move immediately. Perhaps fear had rendered her immobile, though it was more likely that her inherent pride had bound her stationary. Her sarcastic remark was met by a blank stare, his perverse smile dissipating with her obvious disdain. Though he found her comment amusing at the very least, if a little too dry, the unhidden scorn in her voice had him intrigued. Was she still threatened, despite her conviction not to show it – or was she secretly conspiring in her mind the many ways she could attempt, and fail, to kill him. Her impassive gaze revealed little else about what she might be thinking, though he gathered from her silence that she was contemplating his words.

To her foreign eye, this island was so vast and unknown that it might even seem endless, and despite his vague intimations he doubted that she’d be able to make neither head nor tail of where to go. She nodded in humility – a sight that pleasantly surprised him – and stood to her feet. The tremble in her stance was obvious, her body wearily protesting against her bid to move on, but he didn’t pity her enough to conceal the unimpressed roll of his eyes. If she maintained to be this frail, then he had no interest in pursuing her as a companion – so he would have to determine her merit by other means.

“Show me.” Her voice lacked the sharp bite that it had possessed only moments before. He strode forward a step – probably three steps for her – and gazed meaninglessly around the beach as though the mere thought of helping her was a torture to consider, before his eyes finally settled on her smaller form once again. A half-smirk draped his lips in distorted contentment.

“Dear thing, it would be my pleasure.” The tenor of his voice was aberrantly soft, but still vastly cold – if she had been able to see his eyes from her vantage then their dark gleam would have revealed his lack of intention to actually help.

He stared down at her, tail flicking in idle satisfaction, before his brows knitted sternly. “Although, I have no intention of walking for miles simply to escort your grace to safety. I’ll be leaving the way I arrived,” he drawled furtively, turning away from her to tread leisurely towards the monumental rock wall that affronted them. His broad paws sunk easily into the sand, the supple shore hindering his already lumbered gait; it was plainly apparent why he had no interest in traversing the beach, and it was due to selfishness alone that he decided ascending the cliff would be the more convenient and quicker route for them both. If she could not scale the precipice before them, then at least he would have the consolation of watching her plummet to her death, and if she survived, then she might in fact prove to have more worth than expected.

WORDS: 608 | MUSE: Average | TAGGED: @datura

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Perhaps she was simply too tired to be unnerved by his discomforting smiles, the way it spread cross his muzzle at the improper times that a lesser wolf would have rushed forward with concern and sympathy. It wasn’t sympathy or tenderness that Datura sought. Her mind was preoccupied on the search for water, and far less focused on the niceties expected of polite company. The male did not seem like the type who cared for cordial civility, but his grin vanished along with her sarcastic quip. Secretly, she was pleased, but she did not show it.

She noticed the way his eyes rolled in disapproval when she stood, but she bit her normally sharp tongue as she adjusted her weight to stabilize her stance. Her golden brown eyes were bleary, dried and uncomfortable, but that was the least of her concerns. The fae’s dim stare moved from the strange, immensely oversized wolf to the merciless cliffs that he intended to climb, with or without her. The brief inkling of sabotage wandered into her brain as she searched for the perilous trails – if she followed him up, there was certain to be an opportunity to “accidentally” brush up against the brute.

A faint smirk spread across her muzzle at the satisfying image of the hulking beast tumbling helplessly, his muscles incapable of saving him this time around. Those massive paws waggling desperately in thin air as he tried to save himself... He took one giant stride away, but the other’s smell was still heavy in the air, dominating her nostrils. ”The pleasure is mine, sir.” The sting of contempt was still there, lingering on her parched tongue, but her stance was undeniably growing lax.

Of course, the femme realized, he would have ample opportunity to do exactly the same to her during the journey, or something even worse that she could only begin to fathom. Anything could be waiting at the top of the ragged bluff. She wasn’t born yesterday, nor was she naïve. Datura could only hope that there was a river or a pond. He would know better than she. Her shoulders stiffened as she summoned any remaining hint of energy, and she inhaled a deep, salty breath. Her tail relaxed, but barely. She nodded briskly towards the cliff walls. ”Have it your way, tiny,” she remarked ironically, expression bland. "I will follow you. Lead the way before the waters take the both of us.” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to the unfriendly sea, inching ever closer to the eroding cliffs she was now expected to traverse, somehow.

The siege of exhaustion and dehydration felt more threatening than the nameless brute, though his nicknames for her were almost intolerable. In her current debilitated condition, there was little she could do to retaliate except offer her given moniker to him. She didn’t have much to call her own. She had her body, which felt like very little in comparison with the male. She had her memories, but pushed them aside whenever they threatened to surface. All that was left was her name, something she had grown to be proud of, in part because very few others understood its significance. Another tempting idea strayed into her mind, despite her fatigue – find datura growing in the area, and find a way to poison the brute with the toxic plant. Another vague grin appeared, nearly conveying a friendly façade as she spoke in her quieter, demure voice. ”My name is Datura.” She wasn’t sure if this detail would interest the brute, but it would be better than little one or dear thing.

word count: 602
@zenith
ooc: thanks again for the lovely posting table, Zenith!

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“The pleasure is mine, sir.”

His ears jolted sideward in impatience, her persisting need to answer him back causing an audible growl to rise from beneath his steady breathing. His lips pulled over his teeth and his tongue flicked sharply in suppression as the sound receded back to the humid cavern from where it came. Even if she loathed him, she should have respected the fact that it was in his ability to tear her apart, and he instead chose to humour her measly life – a whim that could easily be changed, especially if her attitude did not yield for something more compliant and quiet.

His anger faded momentarily as she referred to him as ‘tiny’ – an ironic misnomer, and one that caused an untraceable smile to temper the grimness of his mouth. He didn’t altogether dislike the name, though he believed her nonchalant attitude was merely a veil to disguise her anxiousness. This cliff daunted wolves of every size upon first glance, from the meek to the brave, and its sheer height eclipsed anything that might trespass into its endless shadow. Yet she still hung onto her scant sense of pride like a pup clinging to its mother’s teat, unwilling to release that final morsel of self-security. Perhaps he would have pitied her if she all but softened her contempt; although he doubted she possessed the decorum to do so. They both lacked respect for each other, which formed the foundation of the barrier that estranged them; the only difference, in his mind, was that he had the position to hold himself in such high regard, whilst she did not, her feebleness and exhaustion displaying an innate weakness and inviting every predator in the vicinity to have at her trembling hide.

She asked him to lead the way, her tone remaining blank, and he obliged her without any retort. He strode ahead of her to muster some semblance of velocity, allowing his own weight to impel him up the steep incline, and found his footing on a flat ledge that jutted out from the natural shape of the cliff. This ledge was sturdy and safe, but the same could certainly not be said for the remainder of the trail, which snaked a precarious path back and forth along the very edge of the wall. He heard her mention her name despite the fact that he had not asked for it, and as he gazed back at her his stare was impassive, but not uninterested. "Goliath," he spoke his own name clearly, but he heard the sound of his father's name entwined within it. Belial He wondered if if he would forever be cursed with that afterthought.

Stepping up on another rocky shelf, his long legs allowing him easily leverage and a greater vantage than his hobbling escort, he lifted himself higher into the sturdy face of the wall and continued upward. The path became notably less obvious the further he scaled it, his hefty weight always spread upon no less than three paws at once to avoid the sufferance of a misstep. He had walked this trail numerous times, but it still did not shock him the amount of times a frail piece from the ledge underfoot gave way from under his sturdy body.

“Let me know if you’re going to fall,” he spoke aloud, his voice unfathomably laced with concern and caution, without turning to see if Datura was managing to keep pace; his voice was thunderous over the coastal wind that buffeted his thick outer coat, and swept upwards against the wall as though willing them to lose balance. “I’d like to watch.”

He lifted his gaze as the mantel before him came to a sharp end, growling softly at the affronting height he found himself overlooking, and backtracked a few paces. He allowed his forepaws to clamber up the steep wall, his whole body lengthening with his head held up, recognizing this part of the trail as a rather unpleasant upwards crawl that led to another slim ledge above. As he climbed with his stomach pressed up against the roughened stone, his paws strained to barely hold his weight, forcing his ebony claws to find any grip against the slanted incline. His breath coarsened with exertion, his body held in an uncomfortably feline posture, before he eventually managed to persist and find his way upon the next protruding ridge. About halfway up the wall was an overhang nestled into the cliff side that sanctioned entry into a cavern - an ideal point of rest for them both, but it would still be quite a long climb before they reached it. Despite his mockery in seeing her slip and fall, he did not particularly wish for the sharp-tongued female to die so early in the conception of their antagonism. He rather enjoyed her passive aggression and the ire it caused him.

WORDS: 752 | MUSE: Goooood | TAGGED: @datura

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Ever observant, Datura detected even the smallest gestures the other purveyed, unable to break her intense stare. She noted how his ears flicked to the side with agitation when she found it impossible to conceal her contempt, and her own ears mirrored his when she detected the hint of a growl that her comment had elicited. The male seemed less perturbed by her second comment and the teasing nickname she had just bestowed upon the other, but his dark lips remained firmly shut, and for once, Datura followed suit. Despite her discourteous attitude and offhand remarks, the she-wolf was capable of obedience. She had been a part of a pack. She understood what it meant to be submissive, though she had been a favored daughter of her former alpha, and as a result, had been dealt a softer hand than most.

She allowed her hazel eyes to shift to the rocky route that would lead them to.... something. Anikira was still a giant question mark in her mind. While the two remained strangers, Datura understood that he was more intimate with the area than she, an outsider, could hope to be. She trailed after him like a little shadow as he stepped onto the ledge. Goliath. She suppressed an amused chuckle when he offered his moniker, which was the least surprising thing she had come heard all day. It was a fitting name. For a brief moment, she wondered what the brute had been like as a pup. Had his mother looked at her newborn and realized he would grow to be the mammoth creature he was today? Her mind was quickly pulled back to the present when Goliath took a long step to another ledge. Her pace slowed as she silently measured the distance, something that would be a greater challenge for the fae to fill in one huge stride. Gritting her teeth once more, her willowy limbs stretched, her hind legs exerting the energy to push her body to the next section of the trail.

The path seemed to vanish into crumbing stone as Goliath continued moving, and the femme quickened her pace. Datura kept her gaze focused ahead, unwilling to look behind her at the dizzying heights, and the menace of vertigo would only intensify with the climb. She focused instead on the scene before her, not below. And what a charming sight it was... the backside of a hulking savage. She could see the power in his sway, carrying himself with authority, despite the harrowing elevation of the climb. There was still a sick pleasure ruminating within her skull, imagining his fall, and apparently he was enjoying a similar sick fantasy in his own imagination. Datura was not offended.

He walked a few feet in front of the fae. Her compact form was much better suited for the nearly vertical climb. For once, Datura was glad to be the smaller one, her lithe body sliding easily along the sheer rock face. Her willowy construction was a distinct advantage that Goliath did not share, with his lumbering gait and enormous, heavy paws. Datura was cautious, nimble in spite her utter exhaustion, ever careful as she stepped with grace that Goliath lacked, following the brute at a safe distance. If the path disintegrated beneath his massive weight, she would not be dragged down with him.

But then, if he did fall, where would that leave her? The notion of being stranded on a sheer cliff in her condition was even less appealing than following the dual toned wolf. The climb now felt as if it was heading straight up, and Datura watched to see how the enormous male would maneuver his way up. He had escorted the fae to a part of the cliff that looked impassible, and Datura paused, flinching, as sudden hunger pains threatened to overwhelm. She had grown accustomed to going without, the sharp ache within her belly. The worst pain would subside within seconds, passing over into mild discomfort that she had learned to ignore during lean times. Her needs urged her to continue.

Worn paws scrambled to find her footing on the rock wall, attempting to imitate what Goliath had accomplished, but the size difference between the two proved tricky. Her paws could not reach the same grooves that allowed Goliath to make his ascent. An exasperated growl rumbled in her throat like thunder. ”Come on,” she muttered to herself. Every muscle in her being protested with every inch of the cliff she scaled, but somewhere in her lineage, her ancestors had dwelled in rocky areas. There was something inherent within Datura that comprehended climbing, and she cautiously filled the space that had amassed between her and her struggling benefactor. ”A lovely view, isn’t it, Goliath?” This time, she made not attempt to mask her irony as she watched him scrambling up the path that he himself had chosen.

words: 816
tag: @zenith

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Snorting at her remark, laden with contempt and unchecked sarcasm, he let an idle smirk quash the frown that almost formed at her jeering tone. He assumed her comment was not sincere, as the view itself was nothing but a bleak, dreary sky meeting with the grey swell of ocean that was more unkind that beautiful, the petite she-wolf at his hind a testament to the malice of the sea. It was true, at the very least she still had her life, and for the most part she was intact, but her vitality seemed so drained that he believed she would have been better off resting on the seabed than delaying what he considered to be inevitable. A creature so enfeebled by such a journey surely would not last long on this hideously wild continent – but here she was, alive and spitting jest at him as though she believed herself adorable enough to not warrant having her throat spilt onto the ground.
His head cocked slightly in contemplation at the thought, wondering why the idea of silencing her elicited a pang of… of something, inside him. Perhaps a pale shade of benevolence still existed within his chest. Perhaps he simply could not find the interest in killing something without proper cause, violence seeming a tedious outcome if it had no purpose. Surely today was not the day he grew a conscience, and surely it would not be for a female who lacked the submission and charm needed to rouse any semblance of fondness from him. No, he was not fond of her – but out of desperation in his lack of finding a companion, he wanted to be fond of her. Whether she even liked him back would be irrelevant; she was so weak, she would have no choice but to rely on him, and that brought a smile to his leering countenance.

He glanced behind to relish in her struggle, and much as she refused to hide her scorn, he did not hide his patronisation, laughed gruffly as her small paws nearly reached the ledge upon in which he stood. “Perhaps if you’d stop admiring the view you could move at a pace that doesn’t shame our species.” He may have been heavier, but he had all the vigour that she did not, and a longer reach to trample the treacherous heights. Whilst she was starved and exhausted, he was more than capable of contending with her agile size and dainty frame, and she would do well to remember that, among other things – he was yet to harm her, but not for want of restraint. 

Ahead of him was a slim ledge that receded so far into the cliff it vanished entirely, leaving nothing but air and wind underfoot. He would have to enough gain momentum to jump the long distance and meet on all fours with the new path that extended out further along the wall, and hope that his weight did not cause the rocky shelf to collapse.

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, Goliath quickened his gait as much as the limited space allowed and leaped across, his paws skimming the side of the cliff to drive him forward. Thankfully, the new ledge emerged at a slightly lower height that the previous one – he would have much preferred to allow himself a straight leap and clean drop, rather than an upward bound against gravity. Anticipating that she, too, would succeed in the jump, he paced ahead and up the steep incline, finding his destination – a wide, flat outcrop nestled amidst the wall’s shelter, and where the cliff hollowed inwards to form a deep alcove, the entrance of a lonely cavern greeted them with an open, jagged mouth.

“The remainder of the climb is straightforward – but we can rest here a while if you are too weak to go on,” he spoke nonchalantly and with a slightly demeaning undertone, despite the fact that insult had not been his intention. Perhaps if he wished to spare her feelings he would have implored her to relax her weary paws, and scratched a fresh bed in the dust for her to lay her head upon – but he did not care for her feelings, so he simply turned back and eyed her in an unsmiling bid to briefly repose before she collapsed from starvation.

OOC: Sorry this took so long! I've got my role playing hat back on now. ^^

WORDS: 718 | MUSE: Fan-bloody-tastic | TAGGED: @datura

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The lingering flavor of salt remained on her parched tongue as she endured. Datura wondered briefly if she would ever taste anything else but the angry sea that had taken her to this place, to this beast of a wolf. She felt his eyes upon her, mocking her struggle as her worn paws strained to find a steady hold on the crumbling rock wall. Every word he uttered was contemptuous, but Datura no longer cared, nor did she offer any further droll commentary during their climb. She was apathetic about his opinion of her, for it didn’t matter if he thought her a weakling or a fool, so long as he continued to show her the way. Keeping her remarks to herself for the present, she focused instead on the path ahead of her – if it could be called such a thing. The ledge barely looked strong enough to support a pup, much less a full grown less, and Goliath was even larger than the average brute. Before Goliath, the walkway seemed to disappear completely.

No hint of a smile or smirk graced her muzzle following his derisive comment. If she survived that day, there would be ample time to make her species proud, though that was not one of the decisive factors in Datura’s corrupt existence. The fae paused to watch how Goliath would manage the obstacle before him, the way his massive form moved back to give him the accelerated pace to clear the empty space between one ledge to the next. In a blur of gray and ivory, Goliath threw himself to the other side. Datura was surprised by the giant's apparent agility, but her expression was void, golden orbs scrutinizing the distance she would have to cross, careful to pay no attention to the distance she would fall if a single paw slipped. One misstep now and she was done for.

Luckily for Datura, she was accustomed to being on the brink of calamity. A persistent state of fear would have paralyzed the she-wolf many months ago. Stopping was not an option. She inhaled the salty air into her aching lungs as she began her own fast sprint. Normally, her limber form was well suited for jumping, her breed and her fitness contributing to her nimble anatomy. Today, she barely made it across. Her hind limbs scrambled to keep her from slipping. If the jump had been to higher heights, Datura would certainly had been doomed. Goliath was already steps ahead of her, climbing a sharp trail ahead of the fae. Datura paused, allowing her frayed nerves a moment to recovery from her close call with a long fall to the beach she despised.

The cavern’s closed proximity made Datura uncomfortable even before she stepped inside the rocky entrance, and she eyed it warily from a distance as she ascended the final, difficult stretch of the way. Had she been thinking more clearly, she would have never entered the damp cavern with the brute, but she was in no condition to argue. Her head ducked unnecessarily as she entered the cave, and she immediately settled against a cold stone wall. Despite her thoroughly fatigued condition, the auburn tinted fae had never been one for sleeping late, and she did not intend to pass out for hours, but her tired body had other plans for her afternoon. Resting normally left her prone and vulnerable to outside attack – even in the best hiding spot, it seemed, she was scarcely safe back on the mainland. No one in their right mind would think to look for her there, perched halfway up a shoreline cliff. She had only Goliath to contend with here, and while she had no trust in the brute, he had brought her this far unscathed.

The notion of continuing on after a short rest floated in Datura’s muddled thoughts – whether with or without Goliath, the climb seemed manageable after the treacherous first half, and the male suggested that the rest of the climb was straightforward. His brusk words and cold stare did not offend the femme. She was simply too tired to give a damn if he thought her weak and pitiful. In many situations, she could twist the latter to her advantage, but Goliath seemed more likely to abandon her than to help her further. Yet he had stayed this long.

Before she could protest her drooping eyelids and screaming muscles, the she-wolf began to drift off to sleep. The fight for deep sleep was too much for Datura to overcome this time, and she was asleep within minutes of resting her chin on her sandy forepaws, her breath slow and steadying after her arduous journey.

words: 780
tag: @zenith

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(Thread closed. Continued here.)