tasting touching hearing seeing breathing

In the midst of his grooming he would look over to see the woman on her back. It looked like she was giving her belly to the moon, submissive and relaxed as if the sky itself was grooming her.

It was obvious the cat was relaxed, grooming himself, his breathing slowed and his tail all but still upon the snow. Methodically running his comb like tongue through his coat, the background was almost lost to him, an atherial slate of sorts.

Perking his ears up at her question, "Oh? Me? Relaxed I guess." Pulling himself closer to the woman with his front paws, something came over him without thought as he flung a bit of snow up on to her exposed belly.
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She probably should have expected such an assault, but it took her completely by surprise. Eyes closed and chin reaching forward to expose the pulse-points and underbelly of her chin, the feeling of snow cascading upon her elicited a squeal, and wrenched her from her repose.

"How dare—!" is what she could manage through a peal of laughter, more at the shock of it than anything. Her body wriggled to its side and she pushed herself up on her elbows, springing up and shaking her coat in a characteristically-canine manner, unable to bear the feeling of the meltwater as it percolated through the thin coat of her underside.

After her instinctive impulse had been satisfied, she passed the hellcat a prurient simper and held her head and voice low. A gust of cold air brushed past them, and Esra's ears pivoted though her eyes still held the solid slate of his own. "Now, what would those ancestors of yours think?" she cooed, eyes narrowing playfully, denoting that she was continuing (what she understood to be) his levity and mirth. Lifting her mouth up high, the prophet wryly questioned "You claim him as your own?" as if speaking to a supposed, invisible peoples.

"He's being utterly rude," she complained into the winds, wiggling her nose to show any forces listening that she was, indeed, being ironic — and once could be certain, there was something that was listening.

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His stomach clenched for a moment as his ears went back as if prepared to be smacked in the snout,  he hoped that she wouldn't take that the wrong way.  It just kind of --happened--, perhaps a bit of mischief was almost involuntary to the cat.   Though when he heard her excited squeal all of his tension was released.

As she spoke to his ancestors, his posture tucked low, as if prepared to pounce. His tail danced back and fourth murderously, hungry for more chaos, a playful posture, but somewhat different to that of a wolf.  The cat side eyed her momentarily licking his chops in feigned embarrassment 'of what his ancestors would think'.   

Maybe they where watching... what would they think?   Still not making full eye contact, slowly that fang filled, chaotic looking smile grew across his face. "They would think it's funny!" 

In service to his ancestors, the big cat uncoiled himself and swiped a massive paw across the snow sending a wave of moonlit powder at the woman before turning and running away, with his hips low to the ground.  Obviously, expecting her to chase him.
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Even as she beseeched the heavens, Esra could not help but cast her attention out of the side of her ivy-wrapped eyes.

There, she saw the anonymous suncat assume what she recognized as a hunting position (or, more likely, for play) but she could not prevent how her heart leapt into her throat at the simple idea of becoming prey. She imagined it might be thrilling, at least for a moment, to feel the rush of adrenaline the accompanied the experience of your near-death; and Esra felt this now, in some small way, simmering in the pit of her belly, as she espied the orange tail dance off in the periphery of her vision.

Another cascade of luminescent powder; another peal of laughter. Then he was gone, almost before the sylph knew it. Her eyes darted, electric-attentive, saw him goading her to follow — and so she abided, as he had done moments before in their descent into darkness; kicking up her heels as her gait quickened and she skittered after him, twittering away in laughing tones."Fire-cat, you might melt all the snow in this saintly place!" she sang after him, half-convinced of the truth of this.

She was a fast little thing, and caught up to him easily (though she had her suspicions that he was indeed not running at his maximum speed) and to forewarn him of his impending outrunning, placed a keen nip at the tip of that dancing-orange tail.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbQuox2w...oundSounds

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Truthfully, his position probably did look like a hunting position more than a playful one.  He was still learning the nuances of these things as he met more wolves. Apparently, it was good enough for this stranger, who didn't seem to flee at the display. It probably helped that instead of jumping on her, the cat opted to fling the snow(probably a better choice for someone you just met).  

Once she was laughing, he knew he was ok.  Taking off into his run, she was quickly on him. His face lit with surprise, his mouth agape, as she nipped at the bit of his tail that he had left behind.  Unable to help it he let loose a small yowl, tucking his tail in closer as he sped up his run a bit.  

It was somewhere in that moment, where he felt the flow of it all.  As the large feline dislodged the white snow into the moonlit sky, time seemed to slow.  It was the feeling that poets and sages all searched for.  Lost in the moment but ever present in it, life made sense in the simplicity of the present. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard what she said.  This was indeed a saintly place, and today this would be his form of worship.    

Picking up the pace for a few strides, he made some space between him and his pursuer, all four paws leaving the ground in an explosive display.  Without giving it a single thought, he planted his front paws into the ground, letting himself slide out.  Now in a slide, his front paws parted the snow like the bow of a ship, sending the snow in both directions once more into the sky. 

Sending his momentum into his chest and then hind legs, he sprung from the ground, twisting around mid air.  His eyes met his pursuer now facing her while he hung sideways in the air, his face animated by that heavenly flow. If she couldn't steer around in time with her current momentum, she would have to face the beast head on.
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She chased after him, and she loved to feel how the way her body expanded and contracted in its many leaps and bounds; perhaps too vocal for her own good, she let out a series of excited yips, especially as the behemoth yowled himself and skittered forward and away from her, because he was that much larger, and that much faster, and even running at her very fastest, she couldn't truly outpace him —

and then, all of a sudden, she had the same flash of fear as she was made into prey once more! The tiger contorted into a shape that required the spinal flexibility she would never, ever have; cutting a move that Esra could never even dream of executing in any of her lifetimes as a wolf. It surprised her deeply, though she could not say it was any less pleasurable of an emotion than before. Perhaps to die was not always such a sad affair...

He had stopped moving forward, but her own momentum sent the prophet careening into his overbearing figure. Where she expected him to be hard muscle, she found him to be soft, plush and smooth — it made for a great cushion for her landing, but the woman squirmed mightily, wondering when she might feel the fated puncture of vampiric fangs upon her neck, suffocating her as cats do. She had played a game with a true hunter and lost, and now she found herself condemned;

Unsure if she was in the real world or one of magical make-believe, Esra found that she was okay with either.

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It seemed she was brave or foolish enough to meet the beast head on.  Twisting mid air he was able to catch his pursuer mid air, pulling her into his chest for a rather cushioned impact sending them both into the snow. Truth was, today he was feeling more like a kitten than a beast, though he couldn't entirely suppress his nature nipping at her neck with a growl once he had her. 

It all just sort of happened until now, where he found himself laying in the snow with the ivory woman under his forearm, against his chest.  letting out a nervous laugh mixed with joy and embarrassment, he slid his paw off of her, placing them both on either side of the woman. His whiskers probing at her, his head was just inches from hers.

All the while, the moon continued to gently rain down on the two of them.
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Suddenly entangled with one another, the two thudded to the earth, creating a crater-ish hole in the otherwise undisturbed frozen landscape. Cue the aforementioned squealing, the lingering wait for her trachea to be punctured, the electricity flaring in the otherwise placid nightfall — it was a crescendo almost too vibrant to handle. Between the pillars of his fire-burnt arms, she continued to writhe with unnecessary effort that was needed to free herself.

Without a great desire to truly do so, all she did was rock back and forth on the earth. "Oh, please," she entreated with great vigor, "If you must kill me, do it swiftly," for this was the only natural next step, was it not? A feline was cunning, and lived in a way that Esra could only describe as optimized — he was a better predator than she; he was the render of death, not she. He had outsmarted her, and outmaneuvered her, so this was her rightful place —

Of course, she didn't truly believe that he would kill her, or that she wanted to die — but were those moments when one was not scared to perish, the moments they were most god-like? To tempt fate, and to still be assured of one's survival — did it not show the ultimate trust in the Gods, and of their protection? Even feigned, she felt the limitlessness that belied detachment, offering her soul up on a platter as she did.

"A sacrifice during the hour of ghosts," the prophet tempted, lifting her chin to reveal the pulse-point along the underside of her neck to the predator of all predators; a God in and of himself.

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https://open.spotify.com/track/2NK6TjWj8...=copy-link

---

Reacting before he could think, the ivory woman's writhing instinctually triggered the big cat to counter her movements. Clamping the woman in place with his forearms, his back hips had come off the ground in the mean time, loading power into his back legs.

Typically it was a moment in the dance of life and death. Many times before, he had found himself postured like this with his prey. He found that his heart was beating, and she could likely see the dilation of his slate eyes.

In the midst of his instinctual haze, he was able to look down at her and fake a vicious smile. "I always give a swift death...", he purred, as his entire body subtly swayed from side to side. "But, for you I'll make an exception..." , he continued; a fraction of lightheartedness cracking through that sadistic looking grin.

Feeling as if he was taking part in some unknown ritual, he had a role to play. The whole night had been characterized by themes of life and death, and natural concepts larger than themselves. That other worldly compulsion was still there, and it soothed him enough to take the moment as it was.

When the woman offered up her life to him, he lingered for a long moment. Looking down over her exposed throat, he exhaled a stream of hot breath from his nose, lingering.

Without much warning, he released a short bursty roar. In the same motion his open jaws shot forward for the woman's neck. Wrapping his maw entirely around that vial connection, he pinned his fangs firmly to each side.
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How much would this massive cat's head weigh, if it wasn't fixed atop his spine and held aloft? It was easily three times the size of her own; round where hers was angular, flat where hers was pointed. Through his smile, his fangs dwarfed hers own mere milkteeth — and the paws clamped on either side of her matched her own ribcage in its width.

If she did actually die in this moment, it was something that Esra could reckon with. She had lived a happy, full life that she could be proud of, hadn't she? Esra had always imagined, that when death eventually came for her, it would be a sacred and beautiful thing; but it wouldn't be sacred and beautiful if it was not welcomed with open arms, as a part of one's mortal path.

He shot forth and clamped teeth around her neck. From betwixt his jaws, the woman fell limp as all breath was stolen from her; she had made play such as this with her siblings as a pup, but never as an adult; it was a move reserved to kill, or in wolf-culture, to forcibly put one in their place. He did not press hard enough to prevent her from breathing, but his teeth were a line that her breath refused to cross, as if it were in hiding. Though her entire body remained unmoving, her tail twitched virilely upon the earth.

Eventually her breath eked its way up her throat and through her nasal passages to her nose, and she became aware of her arms that were curled in tight towards her chest. A pointed, feathered paw was placed on either side of his neck, cradled gently against his collar bone, and she issued warning in a guttural whisper,

"Careful, Tiger," she uttered under her breath, eyes peeling open to watch his sunburnt form sway in the weakening moonlight. "The morning dawns," the sylph noted, "and the veil is not as thin as it once was." She looked outwards from her supine position, looking upon the world in upside-down vision, wondering if maybe she had passed over after all and this is what the other side looked like.

Looking down at him and shivering as the tips of his fangs massaged the tendons of her neck, Esra suggested "The holy sacrament must wait," and brandished a devilish smile, feeling lofty from having evaded death when its brush had come — still was coming — so very close. This was not the end of her story, and the cat knew it as much as she; it wass why she had come across this this very night, as opposed to any other inhabitant of the lands. Clearly, the both had the Gods' favor.

Clearly, their paths would one day intertwine again.

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