It Fades, It Falls [Datura]

[Deleted]

There were so many things he could have done to that female whilst she slept - her fatigue so stanch and unflinching that he doubted the heat of his body pressed against hers would have roused her from her deepening slumber – but he remained far from Datura’s coiled body, turning from his perverse thoughts to instead sprawl his massive body at the mouth of the cavern. The salt carried by the ocean wind seared his eyes, and he closed them out of respite from the saline gale. His shoulders stretched and his muscles undulated with a sweet aching, and though his intentions were to rest but a minute, the steady cadence of Datura’s breathing mingled with the distant roaring of the tide brought an unshakable drowsiness to his senses, and soon, the lupine giant fell asleep.
--
He woke to the roar of thunder and the absence of Datura – both of which riled a displeased growl from him. He loathed storms and their accompanying downpour, as well as the abject misery that overcame the sky; adding to his irritation, he beset himself over allowing the female’s escape, disappointed that she had managed to creep past him when his sheer enormity blocked off most of the cavern’s entrance. Such a sly, wretched little thing she was…

He lifted himself to stand, neither rushing nor fretting over her departure – having no idea how long she had been gone, he had no hope of catching up to her now, so he merely stepped out from the narrow cave at an unhurried pace, emerging on the Rarizu Overhang with dark grimness written clearly in his stoic expression. Perhaps she would return to him when she realised that her bid for freedom would be without fruition, yet if Datura had no intention of returning, then she should pray dearly that they would never cross paths again. He was not worried – she, however, should have been.

He scaled the remainder of the cliff with ease, the century-old path a simple trail that sloped upwards and granted passage to the wall’s squally summit. A faint smattering of rain wetted the air and clung in dainty beads at the coarse tips of his fur; he glared heatedly at the forthcoming clouds, expecting the weather to worsen. A guttural growl emanated from him – this time, not from anger, but from his hungered stomach. His last meal was days ago, perhaps more, and his large size necessitated frequent meals to stop his frame from thinning. For now, Datura was gone from his mind, independence nothing new to the solitary brute. Goliath’s focus was intent on satisfying a more primal part of himself, and as his eyes scanned the surrounding trees and the open rolling landscape of the Nyjoro Hills, he decided to head towards a distant collection of trees that spread into an impenetrable forestry – after all, the oncoming storm would force most of the nearby game to dry shelter. He was hunting on his own, so the cover provided by the trees would aid in ambushing, especially when he hadn’t the numbers or sheer force of a hunting party to manoeuvre his prey towards him. Only in his youth did he have his brothers at his side to rally with him… and how simple hunting was, the likelihood of failure being so small that they could have merely stared their prey down and watched its terror yield for stiff legs and a quick death.

He wandered inaudibly through the trees, the heavy rain and intermittent thunder softening the sound of his approach, yet his size was still hideously obvious even at a far distance. Birds and measly stoats alike fled from his presence, the rustling high up in the treetops and low in the shrubbery foretelling of the escaping morsels. The razing wind snapped at his hide and bowed even the thick branches of trees, the rain managing to strain through the dense canopy and drip down his muzzle. Smells filled his nose, thrown astray by the rampant gusts and musk of rain, so finding a scent trail was next to impossible.

A deafening crack resounded ahead of him, unlike the churning boom of thunder and without the associated burst of lightning – no, this sound was something he rarely heard, and the crash that followed alerted him to the exact origin of the commotion. A tree had become loosened by the wind and thrown over in the gale, but more to Goliath’s interest, the whine of pain that shrilled beneath the storm’s raucous din was an undeniable sign of an injured creature. His ears perked and his head lowered in concentration, heading towards the cries to assess whether there was any luck to be reaped from this misfortunate storm.

It didn’t take him long to find the poor creature – a moose hobbled fitfully away from him, her disordered gait likely due to a broken leg crushed by the weight of the fallen tree. His oversized paws lifted him over the thick, aged trunk, the tree probably too old to hold up its own size against the force of the storm – in plain sight, predator and prey locked eyes, and for some time, neither of them moved a muscle. Goliath watched the creature, surprised to see game of such size so deep into the thick of the forest, yet it was not so unlikely that it was implausible– the Nyjoro Hills were not far from here, and were home to ungulates of formidable size, including bison and other heavy beasts. This moose was no bull, thankfully, as telegraphed by her lack of antlers, but she was still large and strong enough to put up a troublesome fight, even in her injured state.

His tongue lolled from his open mouth, his stare sharpening. If he’d had another wolf at his side, he would not have hesitated – but he was alone and weighing up whether the risk was worth it. Had he been a wolf of a stable mind, he would have allowed the pitiful beast to live for fear of enduring injuries of his own, but he was no wolf of sensibility. One day his madness might lead to his downfall – but not this day.

Reeling into action, he closed the distance between them before the cow could limp another step away, and as expected, he met with forbidding resistance. Panicking, the moose whirled in a frenzy, her powerful hind leg – the one without injury – bucking against his chest, and the force of her sharp kick was so powerful it split through his skin and knocked him onto his side. He clambered away from underneath her weight as she collapsed and made an adrenalin-fuelled attempt to lunge for her throat. He didn’t manage to puncture her jugular, his teeth closing over the side of her neck instead of directly underneath, but the sheer power of his jaws against the supple flesh of her neck would soon render her without breath. She thrashed wildly, her throat vibrating with suffocation, but without being able to find her footing, there was nothing she could do but slowly die. If she had been a smaller creature, Goliath would have been able to break her neck and end the struggle, but her neck was too robust, and the wait for her to expire seemed infinite.

When he released her, the rain had stopped. Night was quick to take its place in the storm-battered sky. His mind had been so overcome by her anticipated death that his other senses – sight and sound – had become clouded with distraction. Even the pain at his chest had been dulled, now throbbing with clarity as his own blood trailed down his chest and to the damp fur of his stomach. The storm was over, the steady mist of rain the only evidence of its departure. His breath steamed with hot craving as he tore the creature’s stomach open, careful not to cause too much mess and waste blood. Below her ribs, the muscle was tough and sinuous, the pliant diaphragm guarding the treasures that were burrowed deep within her. He fed from her all of his favourite parts – the liver and stomach tender and bursting with heated ripeness, and as he pulled his head up to breath and lick his jowls, his whole snout was coated in slick blood, giving him a rather monstrous appearance.

When he’d had more than his fill, he did not abandon the half-eaten kill – if Datura was going to return, he wanted to have some form of leverage over her, and he anticipated that she would not have been able to hunt alone in her wearied state. Perhaps she would even grovel, besmirched by her failed attempt to be free of him, the tasty thought bringing a lewd smirk to his bloodied maw.

WORDS: 1460 | MUSE: Above average | TAGGED: @datura

[Deleted]

Datura had scaled the rest of the daunting cliff on her own. A short rest was all she needed to recoup from her journey, half swim and half current but entirely exhausting. Nonetheless, the remainder of the climb had been as simple as Goliath had suggested before drifting off to sleep, as well. Above the beach area, she had discovered a series of hills and the shallow valleys formed in between them. Beyond the hills, further towards the southern end of the island, she had spotted the tall peaks, still wearing a coat of white along its highest crests. Her auburn mottled pelt was not the best suited for snowy summits, but she found the Kinath to be intriguing. Still, she had turned back, walking through to heavy muck created by the passing storm. Her nostrils tested the breeze with every difficult, muddy step that she took, searching for her own trail back the way she had come. Instead of her own scent, the dense aroma of freshly spilled blood caught her attention. Almost without being cognizant of her actions, Datura’s pace immediately hastened. There was no way to know exactly which hunter had caught the prize, who would be waiting at the end of the scent trail, but Datura had one good guess.


To Goliath’s certain disappointment, she had managed to find food already, thanks to someone else who was kind and giving to strangers.  Datura still thought that was bizarre.  While not full, her belly had been satisfied by another. During the course of her jaunt, Datura had personally observed a number of plump critters scurrying about the wooded area, just begging to be hunted – so small, so helpless in the face of someone hunger and much, much bigger. Anikira appeared to be flush with new life. Spring was an abundant time in most places, but what would come with the passing seasons? Did the game vanish long before the coming of fall? Were winters harsh and insufferably long here? Packs were easy enough to avoid – most of the time. Datura was an expert when it came to eluding others. If the she-wolf wanted to remain hidden, then she would do exactly that, seeking out the undesirable places that no wolf would sensibly claim as their own territory. Remaining independent was one tactic, but there were others ruminating within her skull.

Datura’s resolution was resolved before she found a vantage point that looked familiar, despite the storm. She wasn’t going to return to the mainland. Of this, she was already convinced. It had not been her choice or intention to leave it behind, but it was better left there, a safe distance away. Her form turned sharply towards the east, on the path that had taken her away from the cavern and from Goliath. It was not for want of food that she had come back to the despised coast, towards the place where the merciless waves had tossed her onto the shore of a new dwelling – one seemingly devoid of humans, but not lacking in its lupine presence. The chance of Goliath remaining at the rugged cavern in the cliffs seemed slim, yet Datura felt compelled to look again. It was against every instinct in the fae to return to the hulking brute. Nothing but her own free will urged Datura up to the place he was likely still lurking.

The dark of night consumed the distance, the furthest trees vanishing into the late dusk. The rain had gone and Datura had allowed herself a moment to shake her fur and attempt to groom, though her fur was still wet and messy. She looked more wild than ever, dirty and brooding as she traveled almost silently, except the quiet plodding of mud as it clung to her digits. All the while, as her paws plodded over muddy trails and the fresh tracks of small prey, her mind considered the possibilities of where her decisions would lead her. A year had limped by as Datura struggled in Africa, alone, haunted by memories, her two-legged enemies and, on rare occasions, the stray loner of her own kind on the lookout for trouble. Thus far, no one had mentioned the presence of humans on the massive island called Anikira. That alone was enough to convince Datura of the continent’s worth.

The rich, tempting scent of blood lured her closer still until she spotted him. It was, after all, hard to miss a giant. Unconsciously, and against her better sensibility, a little grin crossed her muzzle when she spied his kill, half devoured but still fresh, from the smell and the look of it. She saw the crimson splashed across his beastly muzzle but was not disturbed by the sight when she should have been. From where she stood, it would be only seconds before her scent caught his attention, if he was alert to his surroundings. The female paused to admire the bloody, brutal scene that would cause others to turn tail and run in terror – the massive wolf she was already acquainted with, the large moose he had taken down solo. Tucking the satisfied smirk from her visage, Datura stepped quietly closer to Goliath. Her head was ducked, but barely, and she thought it was appropriate to keep her banter to herself as she approached the brute.

... Or at least, it was her intention to keep her mouth firmly shut. But this is Datura, not some cautious, submissive bitch with a sweet smile and dainty manners. The comment slipped out before her better judgement could censor her sharp tongue. ”Miss me?”

words: 925
tag: @zenith
ooc: ? happy birthday! huzzah!!

[Deleted]

Despite the silence of Datura’s advancement towards him, Goliath could easily sense the incoming presence of the smaller she-wolf long before she had spotted his hulking form amidst the darknes, partly because of the familiarity of her scent, but mostly because of the strong unfamiliarity of another scent that shrouded her approach.

His ears perked, at first, arousing with innate suspicion, before flattening upon his assessment of the masculine stench – another male had forced his scent upon her. Though the meaning behind this was ambiguous, hostility nettled from some primitive instinct inside him, and caused a crude snarl to resound from his throat, enflamed and goaded on by the adrenaline still circulating within him from his hunt.

Her self-satisfied comment passed by his ears unheard as his guttural snarl mellowed into a low growl, the sound receding from the back of his throat to the pit of his stomach. His frame hardened as he stood over his kill, his grip on the moose so tense that his claws split the roughed tawny hide, and his heightened stance over her smaller one reminding her of his exceeding strength, which judging by her hideous abandonment and nonchalant return, had been forgotten or underestimated.

“His rancid scent hangs on you like the stench of guilt – did you think I would not notice, sweet one?” he murmured quietly, his eerily soft voice tempered by an implication more malicious that she might perceive, unless she, too, was afflicted by his a psychosis as heated as his own. His stare narrowed upon her coldly, recognising her apathy towards his kill. Why did she not dive headfirst into the creature’s still-steaming bowels? Had she not been stifled by starvation when last they were together? Something had changed in her – her stance, her expression, even her tone had lifted with a wholeness that could only be caused by satiating her prior lethal hunger. The unspoken importance behind the stranger’s scent now imparted its meaning upon him – she had already found dependence on another, had her fill with another, only to return and gloat in his face her lack of reliance on him. Did he serve no purpose, if not simply to amuse her? The word bitch found its way beneath his breath.

Anger scalded his senses – unnecessarily, and without legitimate cause, but raw and wild anger nonetheless. His resentment was very palpable beneath the menacing edginess in his voice. “This was no passing dalliance, was it? No – that, I could forgive, if plied with an apology. But you are beyond the aid of words and excuses.”

He stepped towards her, his long gait closing the short gap between them and shattering whatever false sense of security that might have still existed in her head. His form towered over her, circling behind Datura as his striding legs brushed weightily against her side. "You should have never returned..." A breathy growl descended over her as his lips unsheathed his teeth; he did not hesitate, nor wait for terror to overcome her, having no patience to relish in her surprise. He immediately opened his jaws in a bid to lock them firmly around the back of her neck, his purpose not to maim, but to simply hold her small body in place – unless she had the daring to flee from him for good.

WORDS: 552 | MUSE: Iffy | TAGGED: @datura
OOC: I tried really hard not to power-play Datura at the end there... so he will only be able to grab her if she (essentially) lets him aha.

[Deleted]

In Datura’s mind, her afternoon had been a productive one. She learned of packs and places, who to avoid and which were more accepting of strangers. All of this valuable information was convenient and, best of all, free. Now she would never need to stray into unfriendly territories ignorantly. Knowledge meant power, and in the absence of sheer bulk and muscle, Datura soaked up new information like a sponge. The only crime she was guilty of that day was misleading strangers and selfishness – a typical performance from the diminutive she-wolf. In her wildest imagination, she could not have predicted Goliath’s extreme reaction to her recurring presence. While she didn’t expect him to be overjoyed, she had returned, and had done so willingly – something she would have explained, had she been afforded the opportunity.

Goliath immediately recognized a foreign smell lingering on her pelt, the masculine scent of another clinging to her fur, despite the rain and the mud. Datura’s ears pricked forward as his low, menacing growl caught her senses. Instantly, her approach ceased, a forepaw left hanging in middair. She felt a flutter in her chest as his sinister muttering processed in her brain. He was suspicious of something Datura would never willingly concede to, or... well, the fae was puzzled by his words and his intentions, and her façade suggested her confusion. If he expected an apology, then he would be disappointed further. The severity of his words left no room for debate, however, and the female said nothing, for once.

Everything within the female told her to flee for her life, but she would not have a proper chance to escape his powerful clutch. Lingering a moment too long, her eyes narrowed as he spoke again. ”You should have never returned...” She started away with an erratic twist as he closed in, but it was too late, and she jerked to a stop before she could spring to safety. Goliath’s gaping maw and sharpened canines were the last things witnessed before Datura was caught by the back of the neck. He had her a split second before the alarmed fae could dash away from the close proximity of the fuming male. The femme uttered a loud yelp, shocked and outraged by his sense of authority over her, a virtual stranger. Instinctively, her entire body jerked away from her captor, but her sudden movement made her situation more dire. The scent of her own blood mingled with the stench of his devoured prey, and a furious growl rumbled in her throat like the passing thunder storm.

She hated it – she hated being prone to someone much larger, someone she had no hope of overpowering. Datura could not compete with his brute strength, his devastating touch. One final attempt to break free generated only more searing pain, a jolt of agony radiating her nape. If she tried hard enough, she realized, jerked just the right way, she could break her own neck before he had the pleasure of doing so himself. Just like the rabbit she had been gifted, life would be extinguished quickly and as painlessly as one could hope to die. This consideration lurked prominently in her panic-stricken thoughts. Her rigid form refused to relax, forepaws still flailing wildly in the air as if she was trying to run.

As helpless as the rabbit, the fae snarled with the ferocity of a typhoon, but to no avail. ”Let me be and I will go!” For once, Datura was unable to hide the rising distress that laced her tones, frantic, volume unchecked. Every inch she attempted to move resulted in more pain. Her words were useless. She already knew he would not give up so easily, despite their short acquaintance.

One snap and it is all over...

words: 629
tag: @zenith
ooc: no worries! she's not going anywhere.

[Deleted]

As his mouth closed over the female’s nape, her cry of shock was a sweet relief to his roused ears – despite her brave and taunting pretenses, she was still a creature ultimately driven by fear. It did not matter that her mouth was scornful or that she willingly would not submit to him, because at her core, she could be terrorised and coerced to be whatever he wanted her to be. Such was the beauty of fear – in an instant, it could strip away all facades surrounding a creature, revealing the raw and degrading truth of their nature; even as Datura began to pull away from him, her struggle irradiated by a growl, he knew he had already won.

Goliath’s jaws chewed feverishly into her flesh to secure her down, his teeth puncturing her skin and eliciting a swell of blood onto his tongue. As she thrashed against him once more, her freedom so far from grasp, his tail wagged softly, brushing to and fro in unison with her writhing body. Though he had barely moved since grabbing her, her senses were undoubtedly flooding with agony, the self-aggravated pain only enflamed by her continuous struggle. His unmoving mouth was latched to the most delicate part of her body, yet by struggling she was merely endangering herself more, to her obvious realisation.

This… this is what I want you to remember. He closed his eyes as her squirming weakened, a contented growl purring lowly in his throat. The pain of his presence over her was a grievous discomfort, but one she could endure – only by pulling away from him would her pain worsen. This was gravely true of their relationship, and she would be wise to remember his lesson, that on this night she had received a grim reminder of what would happen to her should she abandon him again. Her plea came as a long-awaited surprise, her hysterical voice exposing her amounted dread. A quiet, burly laugh resounded from his chest, muffled by the fur of her neck, and his tense grip softened so that barely the tips of his canines remained embedded in her loosened skin. He considered holding her down for longer, but as his she had already begged for release, relinquishing her final sliver of pride in exchange for his mercy, his point had been made. She had conceded.

Despite the roughness of his previous ministrations, he was surprisingly gentle in letting her drop from his mouth, his jaws opening deliberate and slow to cause no further harm to her neck, leaving only a chain of puncture wounds around her neck as souvenirs of his authority. The scent of her blood was overpowering, his eyes sharpening in predatory elation as her taste lingered between his teeth.
“Go? And where exactly will you go,” he eyed her sombrely, his expression devoid of concern. “A creature so small – the possibility of death would haunt your every day on this island. Wolves are not the only menace here,” his tone was ambiguous but ominous. It was true, he had seen these beasts with his own eyes, and heard of others in passing – bears, cougars, moas, to recall only a few. How on earth this dainty female before him could hold her own against the claws of a tiger or in the jaws of a crocodile, or survive the bite of a slithering reptile, was beyond his reckoning. And what of her own kind? Most wolves regarded intruders upon their territory as threats to be snuffed at the earliest convenience – Datura would be a fool if she thought that all inhabitants upon this land were as soft-hearted as the chump that had fed her earlier that day. Many would not hesitate to kill her – which would probably be a feat of easy undertaking.

He licked the remainder of her blood from his maw. “You are the safest at my side, whether you concede to it or not – I will not hurt you again, because you will not displease me again.” His voice was pragmatic, but also imposing, and though he suspected any amount of trust she had for him was gone, it was not her trust he asked for – he cared only for her fear.

“In truth, Datura, I wish for us to be closer,” he lilted, sitting back on his hindquarters and flicking his tail softly in consideration. The blood from his own injury – a crescent-shaped wound low on his chest – was beginning to settle into the surrounding fur, and as he hadn’t the graceful, sloping neck to reach the damned thing, his eyes fell on her expectantly. His gaze relaxed, though his countenance was still undecipherable. “Clean this wound, little one, and all will be forgiven.” Though the tone of his voice was calm, it was not without his usual threatening timbre - this was not a request, and unless she wished to provoke him again, she would oblige, absent a snide tongue. 

WORDS: 823 | MUSE: Terrific | TAGGED: @datura

[Deleted]

Despite her furious glare, the fae’s posture conveyed her taciturn resignation when she was finally released from his grasp, as all four paws slipped into the slick mud. Recoiling from his touch, Datura seemed to shrink further away from Goliath, belly touching the cold, damp earth. She appeared even smaller in the presence of the imposing brute and despised herself for it, though her smaller stature was not something she could control. Still, the menacing rumble in her throat did not cease. Angry eyes met Goliath’s icy blue stare, cold and conceited in his regard for the much smaller female. She made vain attempts at masking her own suffering as the puncture wounds gifted to her began to throb in the open air, but she had sustained worse injuries in the past. It was only a flesh wound, unlikely to leave scar tissue, but her simmering humiliation was a far great indignity than the bloody marks his wicked fangs left behind.

All around, there was nothing but encroaching darkness, a black void in every direction. Her gaze did not waver from Goliath’s. In the distance, a solitary owl crooned his lonesome anthem of the night. The she-wolf flinched visible – she was superstitious wolf: the call of an owl meant impending death. The sensation of foreboding intensified, the heavy tension in the air palpable. Goliath spoke of other dangers on the island, as if Datura was only a pup who had not yet experienced the harsh reality of life spent alone, constantly on edge to guard one’s own hide. Her lip curled in derision – did he really believe her to be so utterly helpless, like a child?

You are the safest at my side... The words were met with a haughty snort, though Datura knew there was truth in his deep, disturbing voice. Staying with Goliath would undoubtedly have its advantages on Anikira. Why else would she have returned, foolishly, to the place she knew she would find him? Anyone capable of hunting a mature moose on his own without having his skull crushed was, at the very least, an admirable (if not deranged) hunter. Datura silently considered the benefits and the consequences that would accompany a status as his companion. Muscle. Protection. Food. Belittling. Violence. Cruelty. No, she was born a stubborn creature, not yet convinced that she should willingly wish to stay, and certainly not convinced that he would not attack again. She had no semblance of trust for the brute, and she took an unconscious step backwards, further from the heat that radiated from his brawny body.

He wanted her closer. Goliath wanted her – for convenience, for companionship – and Datura was puzzled by the notion that it was her daily presence that the brute coveted. She was not in heat, which was the only reasonable excuse others had for approaching her in the past. It was certainly not for her sparkling conversational skills. An unsettling, inexplicable thrill shot through her entire body. Perhaps he was indeed worthy of veneration, but Datura would not be taken lying down. Her tail had tucked beneath her rear protectively, and her shoulders sagged, but her mind was still racing with the possibilities of what her future would bring if she stayed or left, with or without Goliath and his desire to claim her.

”There are no humans here,” she began slowly, her voice a choked whisper. ”There could be nothing worse on this damned island than that.” It was not death that frightened her. There were some things out there worse than the finality of death. Goliath had no idea. He was born on the island. No one had ever challenged his freedom. He would never know what it was like back there, where humans behaved as if they were gods of their domain, and the other animals merely their playthings. Even the giant wolf would be no match for humans.

Revulsion churned in her belly when he demanded her to cleanse his open wound as crimson painted the brute’s pale chest. No one had ever treated Datura this way in nearly three years of life. No one had ever tried to dominate, speaking to her with such contempt. A few had attempted back on the mainland, but with little success – she was smart enough to stay away, and swift enough to remain elusive. No living creature had ever controlled Datura. Respectful towards her parents but no others, the waifish femme was not well trained in courtesy. She possessed little knowledge of healing, and no desire to come any closer to Goliath to clean his wound with her own tongue.

If she made a dash for it now, he would follow, as sure as the sun rises. But the opportunity would be lost forever if she gave in. The male was sitting back on his haunches now, Datura still cringe before him. Her golden stare shifted for only a split second, her eyes darting away from the hulking beast in search of a final escape route. It was now or never.

words: 840
tag: @zenith
ooc: sorry for the delay. I've had a lingering
headache for a couple of days.

[Deleted]

OOC// A bit of power-playing ahead (which, judging from your PM, I think you've permitted). If not, let me know and I'll modify the parts where Goliath is being a big bully. :3

BIC//
Her body was held small against the ground and her tail was tucked, plainly crying out the evidence of her submission to him, yet the livid resolution in her eyes as they met his… they spoke of something else entirely. Something fierce and abhorring. She seemed to be indifferent to her own pain, forfeiting her body but not her mind, and despite the fact that she wore her own blood like a collar of ownership to the beast looming before her, this was not enough for Goliath. He needed more from her; a pledge of utmost surrender, so absolute and unwavering that there would be no doubt in his mind that she was his.

The words she muttered registered seconds-late in the brute’s mind – one word in particular procured a cynical glare from him. Humans. He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. He recalled from their earlier encounter that she’d spoken of escaping her home, running from what she referred to as ‘the cruelest beasts.’ Perhaps that was her meaning, and these humans were creatures that inspired fear in lesser beings. His ears flattened incomprehensibly, his eyes honing upon her as he awaited her to advance upon him and begrudgingly fulfil his demand, and perhaps if she did so promptly, he would humour her remark, and inquire about what these ‘humans’ were, if anything at all.

She did not move, too encumbered by contempt to obey. The hulking brute shifted his stance impatiently, his posture tense as he realised she had no intention of complying. A flicker of movement in her eyes brought him to awareness – her wild expression was one he had seen in all prey, great and small. It seemed that every creature wore the same frenetic desperation in their eyes when they were about to flee, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Datura was about to take her final chance to escape from him. A breath left his body, his eyes brightening in predacious ire.

His muscles bunched reflexively as he intercepted the moment, his motion a blur in the darkness as he struck her down with the sheer influence of his weight. As he forced her onto her side, his forepaw pushing against her bent torso, his teeth snapped at the air in front of her eyes as a medley of saliva and grating snarls assaulted her face.

“You truly are a glutton for punishment,“ he rasped between snarls, his snout caressing the hollow of her ear. He had given her fair warning – deserting him was her first mistake, and returning was her second. He wished only to smother out her third mistake before the consequence rose to morbid heights. “Why do you refuse to trust in me? I offer you my neck and you attempt to run – why?” The final word was superseded by a lax growl as the weight of his paw deepened into her shoulder. He may have been mad, but he was far from a fool – he already knew she wished grievous harm to come to him, whether by her own claws or at the teeth of fate, yet she’d turned down the opportunity to clean him, even when the command presented her with a perfect vantage of his jugular. If she’d truly wanted to harm him as her inner desires bade, she would have seized the opportunity to do just that, so in some twisted degree, he had trust in her. He didn’t want it, nor cared for it, but his faith in her existed nonetheless. It angered him that she could not return that hope in kind.

He remained silent. A dark smile, one that she could not see, furled his lips into a malicious curve of gratification at the position they found themselves in – her body pressed beneath the insurmountable weight of his, his enormous figure encompassing hers into the sodden mud, his mouth murmuring coldly in her ear. Her taste still flooded him, the rich aroma of her blood interlaced with the musk of his own, the raw and wondrous stench of the moose’s open stomach rousing his senses with wild yearning, and the disturbed soil from their tussle threw a mossy, earthen scent into in the bitter night’s air. A satisfying pain seared his chest and ached delicately with each movement, his ears momentarily hyperaware of every distant nocturnal sound. It was a banquet of the senses, and the serenity of his composure dulled the anger that had pulsed through him moments ago. He lowered his muzzle to hers, inhaling her as though wanting to taste the resentment in her breath. She didn’t want him near her, and hence did not want her tongue anywhere near his fur – but he was not so modestly inclined, and would relish in humiliating her for her refusal.

“You don’t want to touch me… and there is no great shame in being coy,” his voice rumbled low and plush, the mirthless laughter tangible beneath his calm breathing. “Let me clean you up instead,” he pushed her chin up with his long snout, focusing on one of the large open punctures at the side of her neck. It seemed that his jaws were so large he’d torn open her flesh almost the entire way around her neck, but the depth of his assault was nothing to cause concern, more of a severe discomfort than a threat to her mortality. He could have easily ended her with a jerk of his teeth, or prolonged her suffering by suffocating her as he had done the moose, but alas, she remained alive and resenting him for his mercy. Such a ruthless little female, his thoughts purred pitilessly in his mind as he licked at a trail of blood that had snaked its way along her neck, his care less than tender, as he rather enjoyed eliciting more pain from her without needing to cause more bloodshed. The sight would have baffled any onlooker, his actions of caring for Datura’s wounds normally reserved for wolves of lower status, however he lacked the meekness or doe eyes of submission to consider his ministrations as a sign of inferiority – in fact, it was the very opposite, his massive form lording over her against her will as his tongue roughly lapped at her bloody residue, courtesy of his sharp fangs.

WORDS: 1054 | MUSE: Wunderbar! | TAGGED: @datura

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It happened in the blink of an eye.

Datura could not brace her fall, let alone defend herself from the lupine avalanche that descended upon her the second her eyes turned away, seeking a means of escape into the gaping darkness.  Goliath knew what she was contemplating, and would not allow her the leave again. Tonight, she would not be fleeing back into the shadows alone. She would not be leaving the north without a new leader. Datura was thrown to the earth with a dull thud, and a startled gasp was the only sound she uttered as she was ensnared. Her mouth fell open in obvious surprise as she was trapped beneath the enormous beast, pressed into the mud by the other’s enormity. Strained breath escaped her lungs, burning the female’s throat as she gasped for air, alarmed. She could feel his weight pushing into her, and the effortless way he pinned her down.  There was nothing she could do to fight it.

Twin amber eyes hid behind tightly closed lids as Datura anticipated the final blow, hoping that, at the very least, he would hurry up and get his gratification sooner rather than later. He was right – the opportunity to mortally injure the male had presented itself, his jugular in plain sight and vulnerable, but Datura had not seized the moment. It was her mistake.  Instead, she assumed, she would be the one to die that night. She waited for the end with gritted teeth, but it quickly became clear that death was not Goliath’s plan for the evening. He growled viciously in her face, but made no further move to cause her weakened body grievous harm. Datura was not the sort who killed just for the sake of killing, and Goliath seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Murdering Goliath would be quite impossible, in any case. A wolf like this one would not be subdued easily. It would probably take a few others to eliminate a colossal brute like Goliath, while nearly any male that happened upon her would easily dispose of Datura. To be born a female was a curse, it seemed.

Her eyelids fluttered open when the weight of his massive paw pressed into her shoulder, and a visible wince graced her features. The notion of trusting a stranger was absurd, especially when said stranger was abnormally large and clearly dominant, but Datura did not dare to laugh in the face of the giant. Unable to guess if his question had been facetious or if he actually expected an answer, a low, breathy sigh parted her lips. The wet ground beneath her had grown cold with the faded sunlight and passing rain showers, but the brute’s close proximity made her feel fevered, confused. She hated him – or at least, she hated the powerlessness he inspired within her. To be able to knock down anyone, to never worry about losing a fight was a luxury Datura did not possess alone.

Maybe... Well, maybe staying with Goliath was the shrewd option, after all. Even if he was a mad wolf, as Datura suspected, he was a large mad wolf – what fool would dare to challenge him? If he was in a fight with another male, Datura was certain that Goliath would be triumphant. And she was a logical wolf. It was better to be on the winning team, and now, finally, as she was trapped there beneath his heaviness, she was convinced that this meant Goliath. Instead of an entire pack, an uptight alpha to swear her allegiance to, and a group of strangers that she would be forced to pretend to care for, she could follow him. Loyalty was a small price to pay for the protection and intimate knowledge of the island that she could not offer herself, and even devotion could be feigned. Goliath was strong and defiant, qualities that Datura appreciated, even admired, as they were both necessary for survival. Staying alive was the name of the game, and Datura did not intend to lose.

When he spoke again, Datura was taken aback. The words barely had time to process – Let me clean you up instead – before her suffering intensified. The muscles in her rigid form refused to relax as the pain emanating from her neck pulsed like a beating heart. The open air made the puncture wounds sting, but the feel of Goliath’s rough tongue was akin to torture. It took every ounce of will power to keep her agony silenced, to suppress the cries that threatened to spill out with every callous touch. The brute was not gentle, every lap of his tongue deliberate and intentionally rough as he cleansed her injuries, but the gesture was significant to the solitary female. His actions were strangely flattering – no one except her own mother had ever come so close to her before. This was more surprising to Datura than his attack or the fact that he had not slaughtered her already. Nevermind that he was the one who hurt her in the first place. It mattered more that he chose to help, in his own unsympathetic way, instead of tearing her throat out. It was more mercy than she expected from the beast.

Eventually, her resistance subsided altogether, though she still squirmed uncomfortably beneath him each time his tongue made contact with the sensitive, bloodied skin of her nape. She uttered a deep sigh of resignation before she could speak, her voice barely audible, tainted with the hint of a pained whine. ”I was coming back... to you.” The fae gasped a sharp inhale each time she felt a lick. ”I only left to take a look around.” Writhing beneath him helplessly, she stared into the darkness.

”It will not happen again.”

Now, the scent of mingled blood was nearly overwhelming, her senses bombarded by the stench of the moose, still left half devoured, mixed with the smell of her own blood as it dribbled down her throat, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. Her attention was focused on the third scent – his scent, the musky odor of masculinity tinted by the metallic smell of his own blood, stirring a sense of excitement and arousal in Datura that she could not name or understand. ”What happened to your chest...?”

words: 1047
tag: @zenith

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Leaning further into Datura, the jagged workings of his tongue further enflaming her ruptured skin, Goliath rather adored the way that the female’s posture stiffened in utter distress – much like a deranged behemoth cradling a young doe, the poor femme was unable to free herself from under his weight. Her meek sigh was scarcely louder than a whisper, yet it somehow managed to inundate his senses with a satisfaction that invited him to pause, only for a moment, as she spoke.

I was coming back – his tongue stroked her open wound again, educing an electrified gasp from her lips – to you.

The brute felt the slithering contentment of a smirk creeping over his maw, a sweep of his tail showing his unashamed intrigue at her submission. I only left to take a look around.

His ears flattened momentarily, disregarding her pitiable motive for leaving – true or not, her excuses meant little to him as her voice thus far in their relationship had been filled with sarcasm and contempt, and his own with disapproval and provocation. A cynical curl of his lips indicated that he was about to respond with a less than appeased reprimand, until she spoke again, her voice further softened by humility and defeat.

It will not happen again.

His mouth straightened impenetrably, the smirk and snarl gone from his expression. His eyes shifted from the nape of her neck, sodden with his saliva and faint traces of her own blood, to her eyes, which persevered to stare blankly into the distance. His voice was a low, arcane hum, holding the promise of a threat without the menacing tangibility underlying his breath. “No – it will not,” he mirrored her own words back to her, an acknowledgement of her promise, and a reminder of his own; he would not harm her if she simply obeyed.

As she questioned the cause of his injury, his brows furrowed harshly – could the answer not have been more plainly obvious? The carcass of the moose, already torn apart, still offered its fading heat into the night’s air – hunting such a large creature was undoubtedly going to result in harm, even for a hunter as equally large and formidable as he. No, the reason had been obvious – his stare narrowed upon her, attempting to ascertain why she had questioned him when she already knew the answer. She was either attempting to placate his ego, or shift his attention from herself to his own misfortune. The fur covering his sinuous chest twitched in conscious acknowledgement of the open wound on his breastbone, the cold, biting air a simultaneous torment and relief to the tender flesh. A deep red trailed his front to midway down his ribcage, becoming sticky from exposure to the light wind.

“Your absence tore my heart straight from my chest,” he stood informally, his deadpan expression an unsmiling veil over his words, which were otherwise droll. The wetness of blood over his chest gleamed in the scant light, almost as if accentuating the ‘hole’ where his elusive heart had been gouged. His gaze slid back towards her, the dour set of his mouth returning with the accompaniment of stern words. “What does it look like happened.”

The harshness of his stare, entrenched by his innate impatience, fell away somewhat quickly when he considered a third reason for her to question his injury. Had she changed her mind? She had too much modesty to outright state that she wished to clean his wound after only moments ago balking from the command, and he himself didn’t have the contention in him to ask her again. Frowning at the ambiguity of her question, he remained standing but unmoving, curious as to whether his silence might coax her to explain her concern that had seemingly risen from nowhere. The dark cynicism in his eyes was vulgarly apparent - but the subtle interest and anticipation far less so.

WORDS: 646 | MUSE: Struggle-town | TAGGED: @datura

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In three years, Datura had endured an endless parade of misery and misfortune. She grimaced each time she felt his rough, unforgiving touch, but did not shrink further away from the brute. She had suffered far worse injuries and insults before. But this... this was different. Both ears fell placidly, unconsciously, as Datura’s simmering fury defused, finally. Her shoulders sagged visibly, but her mind was racing, in spite of the prolonged pain each lap of the tongue evoked. This was not just a defeat, but a new opportunity in the quest for self-preservation. She did not care to submit. But one did what one had to in order to survive another grueling day. When she craned her neck to look behind, she looked at him differently, the acidity lost from her visage. If she had to follow someone, at least her conqueror was an impressive sight.

So much could change in the span of a day. Now, the female was left with a choice. Staying or going was no longer her decision to make, as Goliath had made abundantly clear now that he did not intend to allow Datura to leave his side. His mind was made up, even her smart mouth could not deter his resolution. Her options were distinct: either she gave in and accepted whatever twisted sense of kindness the male possessed, or continue making her unsolicited comments. She already knew what the latter option would mean, as the puncture wounds that littered her neck still throbbed painfully. Either way, she would follow in the shadow of a tyrant. Fortunately for Datura, she was not the sort of delicate she-wolf who was put off by brutish behavior. No – she was intrigued. This arrangement held promise for one so small in a new, unknown world.

No. It will not.

His voice was like distant thunder. Uttered so close to her ears, the words elicited an unwelcome shudder that caused her entire body to quake. The deep tones that rumbled in his throat were ominous, echoing in her mind as the torment continued. Her next question was met with scorn, the brute annoyed by an inquiry that was all but obvious. She was unable to hide the hint of a smirk that appeared when Goliath spoke of his heart, something she was not convinced he had in the first place. He was different from others she had known before.

She slipped slowly away from his warmth, sliding away from his massive muzzle as she whirled around to face the beast once more. Wordlessly, her head cocked to the left as she inspected Goliath’s wound. Golden oculars moved from the male to the fallen cow with the hint of a nod, following his gaze. His was a kill that many wolves could not take down alone, large enough to feed an entire pack. Traces of the unfortunate creature’s pale intestines still lay strewn nearby. There, her gaze lingered – the broken leg, the butchered body. She wanted to know how – was he kicked while snapping the hind leg in his powerful jaws? Had the moose put up much of a fight? How did a single wolf manage to down a full grown moose? She didn’t question further. The gruff expression on Goliath’s face left little room for discussion. For once, the haughty femme kept still and silent.

The look in her amber eyes said what Datura would not utter aloud. You win. She still had some semblance of lingering pride, but the battle had been lost before it ever began. From the start, Goliath had the upper paw. Silently, the fae’s focus returned to the massive beast. Far from being a mortal wound, unlike the slaughtered moose, the injury he had sustained was nothing life threatening, but there was always the possibility of infection. She touched the bottom of his chin with her dark nose when she inched closer, eyes locked on Goliath’s hulking chest as it heaved with every breath. The wound was nearly eye-level for Datura, who was significantly shorter than the male.

Her own voice escaped as quiet as a whisper, a stark contrast to his. ”Where will we go next?”

Her actions were surprisingly gentle, despite his treatment, despite her previously nasty attitude. The taste of his warm blood lingered on her tongue as she lapped at the mark left by one well-aimed hoof with the humility that Goliath expected from her. Datura could play the part of submissive bitch.

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tag: @zenith

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Datura’s pensive silence held more significance to the brute than her wide-eyed stare of resignation – any creature could bear an expression of surrender, but for this femme to snare her tongue against the very will of her nature… that meant more to Goliath, because in doing so, she submitted to him willfully and not simply out of subconscious, primitive fear.

As her gaze remained on him, a cautious statement of her lingering bravery, she slowly moved closer; the soft touch to the underside of his chin brought little change to his stern countenance, neither a smirk nor a scowl pervading the cold, stoic unconcern written on his face. She questioned him, though his mind faltered in its response, too preoccupied by her following ministrations to care for giving an answer. As she cleaned his wound, the slow, gentle stirring of her tongue washing away his blood and adherent dirt, the change in him was not particularly visible, but it was certainly tangible. Faintly, his posture eased, no longer tensed in domination – his breathing came untroubled, and the upwards flick of his ears announced his intrigue and acceptance for her.

He knew her actions were not spurred by affection, nor any other genuine sentiment beyond her trepidation, but he enjoyed her attentive preening all the same, his open wound the focal point of her attention for this short while. Her slender body pressed towards his monolithic frame accentuated their size difference to an almost comical extent. Their close proximity was both grossly unfamiliar and entirely welcomed by the lupine beast.

“Wherever we please,” his answer was ambiguous and his tone flat, almost as though preemptively expecting her to be disappointed by his vague response. Did she assume that he had some greater plan to follow? Inevitably, he wanted to return to Ina’mos, his homeland, but beyond that inexplicit goal, his ambitions were unclear and fleeting. A peculiar voice in his head posed the rhetorical… what else did he want from life? He wanted solitude, yet he wanted companionship – above all, he wanted the absence of contradictions in his mind, but given that his head was insensible at best, and certifiably deranged at worst, that goal would never come to be. What else was there for him, beyond his own psychosis? He had long since puphood strived for freedom, and as far as he was concerned, he already had that, and it seemed that no matter the direction he chose to venture, he would continue to be free and governing his own life. He wanted warm, clear skies, and he wanted bloodshed for his fallen pack, which were both things he would purposefully have to seek out. He wanted her back – his beloved Aaricia, his wretched dead runt of a sister – but that was not going to happen in his lifetime. His fair blue eyes, inscrutable, stared down at Datura with a solemn consideration for her newfound part in his life.

Datura’s presence beside him, whether indefinite or temporary, was a revelation that tampered with his prior lack of direction or meaning. If she stayed with him, he could achieve more than his own freedom – he could wholly control hers as well. The prospect of having her at his whim elated the callous brute, leading him onto an altogether separate, broader path of thought; if he could control her, protect her, even guide her to a place greater than she had ever imagined herself finding, he could do the same for others. He could be revered, instead of feared; perhaps both, if he decreed it. He wanted to not only dominate, but to reign  - something that many common wolves strived for out of luckless hope, but for a behemoth such as he, it was not only possible, but deserving. He would overshadow all that followed him.

Starting with Datura.

His chest broadened with an appeased breath, his gaze moving from the she-wolf tending his wound to the moose whose open torso was barely anything more than a shredded heap of entrails and detached ribs. “When you are finished,” his spoke softer, kinder than he had before, savouring her reluctant touches. “You will eat what you can of the moose, whether or not you can stomach it. I am a great deal of many dire things, but wasteful is not among them.”

An absurd smirk slanted his mouth, as though he was openly proud of his vain self-deprecation. Datura would eat the moose, hungry or not – she wouldn’t waste away on his behalf, her thread-like frame a constant reminder of her fragility and malnutrition. He liked her small – but not so small as to compromise her health, and controlling exactly where and when she was allowed to eat was the first of many humilities Datura was going to have to embrace until she proved herself.

WORDS: 800 | MUSE: Average | TAGGED: @datura

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The change in energy was palpable as the brute’s stance became more relaxed as she tended to his injury. The shift in the air was a welcome change, the tension waning considerably now that Datura had grown obedient. In return, her much smaller form relaxed as well, though her heart still beat wildly within her chest, head swimming. She was so close that she was certain she could feel the constant thudding of Goliath’s heart inside of his massive ribcage. Every sense was heightened – she could still feel the sting of his cruel touch on her neck, throbbing as the night grew colder with the promise of frigid hours ahead as darkness set in. She was acutely aware of each breath that Goliath took, until it was all that she could hear. Swallowed in the shadows, all of the other sounds and distractions were tuned out, her attention torn between her gentle actions and her racing thoughts.

Her jumbled mind couldn’t decide just yet if meeting Goliath was a stroke of good fortune or an impending, inescapable curse. That sick, silent part of her that could never be extinguished fantasized about tearing into Goliath, ripping the skin back with her teeth to watch his crimson blood taint the earth. A part of her still wanted to see him writhing in agony beneath her, but her touch remained delicate, deliberate, with the unconscious tenderness of a mother wolf. She swallowed her pride along with the drying blood he had shed in order to feed himself. The tension in her shoulders eased. Tomorrow, her muscles would ache from exertion. It would all seem like some bizarre dream in her muddle skull after a fitful night’s rest – until she saw him there, ever near for the foreseeable future.

The silence passed between them for what felt like an eternity before Goliath offered a short reply to her inquiry. A faint smirk graced her muzzle, secretly pleased by his vague response and the confidence projected in his deep voice. Again, there was silence. The steady rhythm of inhale, exhale filled her ears. In her imagination, she could easily envision Goliath going any place he pleased – and who could stop him? The advantage of size meant that he was capable of doing the things Datura could not do alone – trespassing to wander through claimed territories, defending against anyone who dared to pick a fight, taking down a mature moose without assistance. She dutifully lapped at the wound until it the blood was gone, and after the final flick of her soft tongue, she pulled away from the giant. The metallic taste lingered on her tongue as her neck craned to look at the meal offered.

Goliath’s sheer bulk equaled freedom and security – not only for himself, but for Datura, if only she could do as he wished. It was a sure escape from the miserable life left behind on the mainland, and while her mind could conjure up many chaotic, dismal destinies, having so skilled a hunter would be useful. If she had to trade her independence for a new manifestation of freedom, than so be it. His expectations and his motivations were still a mystery, but he had gained her allegiance.

Her attention turned to the slaughtered moose, unable to hide the slow, creeping smile that crossed her muzzle. She would never turn down food. Even with a full belly, she would devour what she could until she was nearly sick, engorged. She would take all that she could, even to the detriment of others. She had watched smaller, weaker siblings wither away from starvation while she grew strong and plump. A wild animal was not truly selfish – it was a matter of survival. Summertime was looming, with its sweltering heat and dried lakes. It was a season she associated with death and despair. One year had passed since the demise of her natal pack.

Slowly, she skulked closer to the moose. Her muzzle dipped, the smell of the carcass intoxicating. She wasted no time tearing into the torn vitals that had been ripped from the animal’s belly. The fae ate as if she were starving – it was the most meat she had seen in a long while, even after Goliath had devoured his fill of the prize. After several minutes of fierce consumption, the female paused, tongue darting out to lick the sweet crimson from her muzzle.

Datura was not skilled at making small talk. Normally, she didn’t care enough to ask. But her situation had taken a turn for the strange hours ago, and so she spoke, disturbing the quiet. ”Were you ever part of a pack?” It seemed worthwhile to know more about the brute’s past, since it was now readily apparent to Datura that the two would be spending a lot of time together.

words: 805
tag: @zenith

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As the female’s warmth left him, her attention diverted to the lifeless moose, a vulgar rush of heat left his nostrils; the airy growl signified his restlessness at the loss of her touch, but the sound tempered as she quickly tore into the beast’s open stomach. Her hunger indiscernibly surprised him, and his eyes did not stray from Datura’s back as her ravenous maw delved into the spilling innards. Her turned posture afforded him the opportunity to examine her without her own gaze piercing his in return, and he appreciated her distraction in the fresh corpse.

Standing over his kill, her body held in comparison to the moose was diminutive, and pleasantly sleek. Where the robust ungulate limbs sprawled out beneath her, defined by heavy muscle and bulging tendons, her own legs were slender and unquestionably brittle. He could almost taste the trembling of her slim bones in the flustered silence that had fallen between them. Her head was bowed deep into the moose’s torso, but he knew that she was aware of his eyes on her. He did not blink, nor look away – he could not muster the will to see anything but the slightness of her body and the insatiability of her appetite. His head lowered vigilantly, the brightness of his stare sharpening with voracious allure, and in silence, he stepped forward. His tongue swept the remnants of salivation from his blackened, gaping lips. The svelte curve of her spine directed his attention to the base of her tail, and overcome by a peculiar sense of urgency – one never experienced by the young male – his snout swept the underside of her tail.

His ears flattened immediately, his mind abruptly affronted by elation and a delighted stir of aggression. His tail wagged impatiently, before a curled lip and a flash of menacing teeth quelled his spike of curious frustration, and was replaced instead by the heightened urge to dominate her – but he conceded to his own hubris before the jarringly perverse sensation goaded him on. His awareness was dulled by an inability to concentrate, the primal wake inside his body an unwelcome addition to his already culminated madness.

He slid past her, forcibly moving against her side as he arrived at the moose’s stomach, noting with gratification the absence of internal organs. His head loomed over the creature’s abdomen, indifferent to whether Datura was pushed aside in the process, and his jaws seized a protruding rib that appeared to be loosened from the vertebrae. After a short grapple, the bone came free, and he began cracking it in his teeth, intent on retrieving the marrow that he enjoyed savouring more than eating.

Her small voice did not cease his amusement as he continued to crush the rib in his teeth, but his ears flicked in response to her query, acknowledging her inquisitiveness. Her question was unexpected, more because it revealed her interest in knowing more of him rather than it being irrelevant to the situation. The question was harmless, and though it riled an anger in him beyond her knowing, the anger was not directed at her. “Only the one I was born into. It disbanded when I was young, not long after my parents and siblings were killed.” His voice was smooth and impassive. He did not expect pity from her, and this was made vastly apparent in the unemotional tone that he spoke in. She, too, knew the same pain that he did, and melancholy always seemed more bearable and far less grievous when the same wounds were worn by someone else.

A strange stillness followed his voice – did she expect more from him? He could not know from the briefness of her question. He didn’t want to venture to the insufferable lengths of explaining each of his ludicrous family members to her; there wasn’t a breath in his body long enough to describe the tedium of his brothers’ rivalry, whom he loved, or the duality and insanity of his mother and father, respectively, whom he still loved. Nor was there enough strength in him to delve into what remained of his soul to explain his mindless, irrepressible need he still had for his young sister, whom he loved beyond anything and everything.

The thoughts of his family did not stir any desolation in him, which caused a frown to deepen on his maw. “Their death is of no consequence to me, as I am not the one who is dead - sadness will not bring them back.” Of course, half of what he spoke of was true; it was the impassivity of his expression that was a lie. The death of his family troubled him deeply, but grief was something that never pervaded his stone-like countenance. He did not know how to show sorrow, or how to comfort another afflicted by the same - yet, despite this, he was not emotionally scarred, but emotionally malformed. For that, there was no cure.

His impervious eyes returned to her, fragments of bone and blood still on his tongue. He did not return the question, as he had already gathered the answer from what few pieces of memory she had shared with him. Still… there was a question that itched in his mind, and it was something that he wouldn’t be able to fathom without her explicit answer. His ears relaxed in thought, his mind searching his memory for the foreign word that she had said on more than one occasion. “What… is a human?”

WORDS: 916 | MUSE: Mucho excellente | TAGGED: @datura

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She could feel him coming closer without looking up from the delectable, gory scene, engrossed by the task he had demanded: disposing of what was worth devouring, wasting nothing valuable. He approached from behind, something she was abstractly aware of as her tongue savored bloom. Both ears pinned back flat against the femme’s skull, but still, she made no attempt to move, even as the intensity of his energy threatened to engulf her once more. He said he would not harm her, and he had offered her more food than she could stomach, but she didn’t stop her feasting – until she was pushed aside by Goliath so effortlessly, it was as if she didn’t exist at all. Too miniscule and apparently in his way, she half stumbled, half stepped away from the brute, who tore into the wretched beast’s ribcage with the same ease.

The fae, her hunger now more than satiated, turned her attention to Goliath as he considered her arbitrary question. She sat, tail curling around her haunch. The auburn-tinted tip of her tail came to rest placidly before her ivory forepaws. Goliath seemed wholly unaffected by the depressing and brief history he offered in response. She watched him with veiled interest, watched for the emotion he was guarding closely

Like Datura, his entire family had been wiped out some time ago, leaving the brute with no known kin and no pack. His unemotional attitude, the flat tone of voice was unusual – except to Datura, who had become quite the expert at ignoring her own feelings. She was adept at pushing away any sentimental memories of her previous life on the mainland of Africa. It had been a miserable life, even before her clan had been murdered. If nothing else, they had something in common, finally – a disturbed outlook and seemingly callous inclinations. Goliath’s unexpressive response was a façade. For Datura, it was different. She could no longer say if she missed her slaughtered relatives, or if she had ever loved them in the first place. That part of her was dead. Her innocence was left to decay along with their bones, now obsolete.

She looked at Goliath, her newfound keeper, with curiosity swelling in her amber hued orbs – he did not display even a vague hint of personal sorrow, despite being left alone in the world. Had he watched his parents slaughtered before his eyes? Had he found their lifeless corpses, as Datura had? The horrific image of bloated bodies crept into Datura’s consciousness. Her slender body twitched visibly. She could not – would not – allow the haunting scene to affect her any longer.

The male wolf spoke again, and Datura nodded, conceding his point. Dwelling upon what once was did nothing to help what was still to come. She agreed, having learned the same from personal experience. A year spent alone had taught her that solitude was not always welcome, but sometimes necessary, though she suspected that her solitary status had been forcefully taken and that it was not likely to be given back anytime soon – if at all. There was a chance that Goliath would grow bored with Datura’s presence, or tired of her sharp tongue, once she was comfortable enough to let it slip again.

Mercifully, he did not return the female’s curiosity with the same inquiry about her past and the life she had left behind. Datura was not willing to share the intimate details of her family’s sordid history – bred into captivity, having to teach themselves what it meant to be a wolf, something that should have been innate. Humans had robbed her ancestors of their lupine nature, with steel bars and concrete. She had arrived after their escape from the cold metal bars that had caged them, born into freedom, but ever haunted by the knowledge of her parents’ shameful reliance upon humans. Even Goliath would have difficulty extracting this truth from the fae.

Goliath’s question was met with an angry glare and bristled fur. Her lip curled instinctively at the mention of the greatest enemy she had ever encountered. Humans. She loathed them still. Guessing from his interest, however, Datura was finally convinced that the island was indeed absent of the two-legged animals. Moving a few paces backwards, away from the hulking beast, Datura tried to calm her temper, but the very thought of them enraged her, and she could not pretend otherwise. ”Humans. They are the worst animals on the planet. I am certain of this.”

She paused to inhale a deep breath, but her heart still raced. ”With humans, you could be the largest wolf in the world. It wouldn’t matter to them. I have seen them kill animals far larger than even you. They hunt, but they leave the meat to rot in the sun. For no reason,” she said through the low growl rumbling in her throat, shaking her head at the memories from her youth. She could still see the strange, horrible animals, the same species responsible for her family’s destruction, creatures who didn’t need to be strong to take down their prey. ”They will take you and keep you imprisoned until you die. Trust me. You never want to encounter a human. They always bring trouble. No mercy...” Her head was still tossing back and forth as she spoke, muscles tensing beneath her pelt.

words: 888
tag: @zenith
ooc: boo, humans!

[Deleted]

In response to his question, he immediately noticed the fierce bitterness that crossed her features; her raised hackles and accompanying glare roused a scowl of equal intensity on his own maw, spurred from offensive instinct more than reciprocated anger. She had not earned the right to snarl at him yet. A steady huff slipped through his clenched teeth as her snarl persisted, and as she stepped back from him, he immediately stepped forward in tandem with her withdrawal, intuitively believing that she was attempting to flee from him again.

”Humans. They are the worst animals on the planet. I am certain of this.”

His ears perked at her tone, but his eyes remained severe and dark. As far as he was concerned, there was no way of measuring which animal was the worst. All creatures were beasts in one way or another, or in a culmination of many ways; mindless and stricken with the struggle to survive, prey and hunter alike, all creatures did what was needed, and nothing less – any animal to disobey this law was the ‘worst’ in his eye. Her vague words offered little respite to his interest, not yet answering his question, yet he suspected from her aggressed response that there was more to be shared, and after a short breath to reign in her anger, she obliged his intuition.

”With humans, you could be the largest wolf in the world. It wouldn’t matter to them. I have seen them kill animals far larger than even you. They hunt, but they leave the meat to rot in the sun. For no reason,”

His glacial eyes narrowed as she directed her rhetorical fretting onto him – how easily he could be killed by these creatures. A ludicrous thing, as weakness in any form was not a thing he conceded to lightly. Nothing could kill him but time – and he doubted that these wasteful hunters could pose as such an illimitable force. The corners of his mouth lifted roguishly at her assumptions, aware that the inflection of his lips would enrage her further, but antagonism was what she deserved for pinning him at the summit of her own nightmare.

As she continued her speech, her voice degrading in rationality and ascending in emotional instability, his mind began to meander the literals of which she spoke. Though she had more than elaborated what humans merely did that made them evil, she was yet to even scratch the surface of the question that he had actually asked: what is a human. Were they birds or beasts, land or sea or sky dwellers? As far as she had explained, they were not meat eaters, but killer of meat and nothing more. They sounded like an animals that could not exist.

“These creatures… truly they must be a formidable sight, if you insist them to be so much greater than myself,” his brows arched, appeasing her hostility for a brief moment. “Are they taller than the trees, the ground trembling under their steps?” His voice was tempered and musing, but his composure possessed an unashamed trace of mockery. “Are their paws sharp with a hundred talons, and their jaws filled to the molars with a hundred teeth more?”

What else quantified the lethality of a beast but the instruments it was born with, and killed with. His own teeth and claws were his armaments of many, but his true destructiveness came from the absolute strength in which he wielded them. These humans, too, must have been strong – but the actual extent to which they overpowered him he was genuinely interested in knowing, possibly due to some morbid curiosity within himself, but more likely due to his innate desire to overpower all that could confront him.

WORDS: 621 | MUSE: Not so great | TAGGED: @datura