Where innocences burn in flames

He ventured down from his mountain this morning, once again following the pale feathers of his avian companion. While Stjörnuáti's memory had not yet been pieced back together 100%, he was remembering more and more of @D'Artagnan and their bond, of the way they had found one another. Most of all, Stjörnuáti was remembering that there was no reason not to trust the blue-eyed creature and so, picked his path along the borders, sweeping out from the forest at the spire’s base.

Where their scent was weakest, Stjornuati made his rounds, marking here and there while the pale bird circled over head.

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@Thalia

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Slowly she was familiarizing herself with the Tundra, soon enough she would know every nook and cranny of it and all that was left was the mountain that loomed over her in the distance - she had no reason to go there as of yet, and so, today was that day. It had been a while now since she had seen that guy and so she felt safe enough to investigate its peak.

Well... that was until his fucking scent was caught on the wind just at its base. And she frowned deeply at the scent, deep wrinkles forming as she looked around. Unaware of him just lurking around on the corner, she chose to leave a little present for him, believing she had plenty enough time to do so where it was weakest. She pissed along the cove, and here she would do the same.

Leave him a little present to find later on in the snow. 

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+1 Discovery Points

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He watched her squat, watched her piss on his claim in a way that might have elicited rage and the draw of blood had she been anyone else. Stjornuati knew, however, that the little dragon was making her point, that she was not to be owned, that she was no friend of the raven-seer.

“Amusing yourself?” He asked as the last droplets of piss left her body. He had been silent, of course, and was fully aware that thus far, he had not spoken in the common tongue in front of her. Time for a surprise.
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“Hell yeah I am.” She was nearly beside her giggling, imagining how mad he would be at finding this little gift of hers once going around checking the base of the mountain. It took a wee bit of time for it all to click in that someone was talking, even longer for her to realize who for the reason that she had heard him not speak the common tongue - not to her, not around her, just some gibberish. 

Whipping around with the sudden realization someone was literally just watching her piss, she was ready to face a pervert, and instead, was met with that same face she was pissing out of spite for. “So you do speak common tongue.” She frowned again, staring daggers at the man, accusatory eyes for the shitty game he was playing with her until now. Her guarded pose was enough to explain that she was ready for his attack, certain it was coming any moment now.

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“This one has always spoken your tongue, lítill dreki,” Stjörnuáti rumbled at her, tail flickering behind him for a moment as he watched her. Her twist to see him, the sudden realization that had writ itself across her face, the accusation and mistrust that lingered in her sky-born gaze, all of it served to amuse the star-eater. He did not venture closer, did not spring to surprise her, for the dragon was coiled, ready to strike as a viper might. “You only come to this one's slopes to take piss?” He asked, aware that his common tongue was not the best. “Or there is some other reason?”
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“And you use it now because?” She twists her head to gaze at him with one accusatory eye. Knowing very well that it would have been REALLY FUCKING USEFUL UPON THEIR FIRST MEETING. The thought drew out a low growl from her throat, frustrated at the thought of all the other times they met and he chose to purposely speak a different language to create some kind of blockade. This guy really was a piece of work wasn't he?

Straightening herself out finally, she positioned her head in a certain angle as to try and look at him down her snout - despite still needing to look up at him to do so. She would work with what she had. Unless there was a boulder or log she can stand on, posturing was all she had.“What if I did? It's a nice mountain to piss on.” A flick of her tail as the tip remained lightly curled. 

“I was going to check it out as its the only place I have yet to touch, but now I think this will suffice knowing you lurk here now.”

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A laugh burst from him, teeth flashing in a predatory grin. The dragon gave him the reaction he sought from her, anger flaring as she realized he'd been able to understand her -- comunicate with her -- the entire time. A roll of his shoulders was her answer, expression both nonchalant and amused. “This one saw no reason to before this moment.” Her anger had been delicious, her reactions priceless, and it did not seem as though that would change any time soon.

“That, it is.” What she had meant as an insult, Stjörnuáti took as a compliment. “Unfortunate. Hrafnsvaktin would do well with lítill dreki upon its slopes.” She had the kind of fire that the shield maidens of the Keep had fought with, and it made him want to keep her here, though he doubted she would ever follow him, or his brother. Perhaps Valmúa, though Stjörnuáti was unsure if the poppy was in a position to be fit for leading just then. In the future, maybe, but right then, no.

“You are welcome to explore, if it is what you wish for.” He dangled the invite in her face, not telling her he'd tail her the whole way.

+2 Discovery Points

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“No reason before now?!” She mocked him in a shrill surprise/anger. Honestly, she needed to get her attitude checked and temper under control as it seemed like almost every encounter, with or without this man standing here, ended with her straining her voice. He was so nonchalant, relaxed, and somehow that pissed her off even more. Was there even anything he could do that wouldn't light a fire under her ass? “You're a real piece of shit you know that?” She sneered, disgusted with him even if there was a part of her, deep down deep deep down within, he intrigued her. 

“Why? So you can own me?” She assumed Dreki was supposed to be her, whatever that was. She was taking it as an insult for now. He invited her to explore and cautiously, a loud caution, was apprehensive about it. The woman mocked him with her tone, remembering what the poppy coloured woman had told her in their last meeting, once again finding it humorous that he would even try.

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Immediately, he snorted, his lip curling in distaste. “Tell me, lítill dreki, how does one own what cannot be tamed?” More importantly, why would he ever want to tame such a spitfire? He responded to nothing else, tail flicking in mild agitation as he regarded her. Damn Valmúa.
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The man's curled lip was taken as something directed to her - naturally she returned the favour even if it wasn't the intention the still unnamed man had meant. “Wouldn't you like to know.” He was right, she was untameable. A wild fire just waiting to happen.“No common man like you could ever dream of it.” The way she tossed her head up, turned as if to tease the man with the sway of her muscular hips. As if to tell him, to show him just what he could only dream of having - because as far as she was concerned, that was all men had on their minds.

So she walked away, following the mountain's foot and not away nor through, just teetering on the cusp of both as to not look as if she was being chased away by him - nor taking his invitation. 

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“No.” The single word rang with truth, watching as she turned tail and walked... not away but not closer, either. Dark eyes did indeed follow the sway of her hips, admiring the form that she so willingly showed off to him. An urge rippled through him, one that involved taking her by the scruff and making her submit to him in all the best ways, but Stjörnuáti let the fantasy flit away, instead striding after her, a shadow following the blaze as she moved 'round the foot of his mountain.
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She didn't bother to glance over her shoulder as she could hear his feet against the snow following her. A part of her expected him to, another was annoyed. She didn't let her prideful poise fall provided that he was around. It only meant she would remain here until he lost interest and she could walk away on her own damn terms.

The autumnal woman took her damn time as she weaved through the trees, leaving her mark on most of them just to add insult to injury of her previous piss-take by leaving other scent markers by rubbing her shoulders against the trunks as he passed. Doing so just for the reason that he was following her like some kind of lost pup. She did so casually as if it wasn't her intention to piss him off.

Not once did she look over her shoulder to glance at him. Other than keeping her ears on him to listen to his feet, she pretended his presence was elsewhere than just a reach away. A part of her was also thrilled to think that she would get a rise out of him, see how far he would let her go before that stoic outer shell would break.

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The problem with trying to get a rise out of the stareater was that, unless your name was @Valmúa, once he knew what you were up to, he was almost entirely immune. Expression ever placid, the barest hint of an amused smile curling a single corner of his mouth, Stjörnuáti followed the woman, pissing where she pissed, rubbing a shoulder against whatever her fur touched. At one point, Stjörnuáti even marked over her scent and flung the dirtied snow in her direction with sharp digs of his back paws into the snowy ground. This, to rile her up as she attempted to do to him; unfortunately for the little dragon, he had a littermate with a penchant for getting under his skin.
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She liked to think that without looking behind her, that he was getting annoyed. The image of him glaring at her was picture perfect in her head and oh if only she would look over her shoulder to see how wrong she was. She only imagined so as he covered up her markers with his own stench as if he was a parent cleaning up after their hurricane of a child who put their grubby fingers all over the house.

It was when he flung some of the not-lemony flavoured snow got flung her way, hitting her thigh that made the woman stop. Ears angrily swivelling back. So much for getting him riled up as her own anger bubbled. 

Swinging around angrily, snow flying out from all direction around her paws - she stormed over to the man staring at him straight in the eye, even standing on her tippy toes as necessary to do so. “Clean it off.” She growled. Of course she asked for it by marking what he was trying to claim, but at least she didn't flung her own excrements at him. This was just a little too far. “It's your piss, clean it off my leg.” She growled, ready to bite his face if he refused.

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His grin was wide, toothy, and feral. No sooner had she demanded it of him than he bounded forward to rush her, pushing her down into the snow where he knew it to be deep and pouncing upon her, forcing her to roll and thus, clean her fur. Laughing, the male got to his feet and put a bit of distance between them. She had asked him to clean it. The problem was that she hadn't specified how.
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Expecting for him to refuse, she was poised and prepared to lunge for his face. The toothy grin is what had her believe he would, prepared to defend himself from the on-coming attack. She was, however, surprised that not only did he not lunge at her first, but instead 'cleaned' the soiled spot along the leg that he had flung to her in a way that was savage. Completely unnecessary, that left her covered in snow.

And he was laughing. Now she could easily just walk away and ignore him, move on with her life but since when was Thalia ever going to let things go that easily? Nah, she liked the hard route. The one that most likely flustered her more than just letting it be. He quickly put distance between them and she just as quickly, rolled to her feet and chased after him. Teeth snapping to pinch his skin for manhandling her like that.

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Oh, the bite of her teeth was sweet, sweet fire. It caused him to laugh more, turning on his heel to nip back, careful with the strength of his own teeth. This was not Solpallur, nor was it Valmúa. Rökkvi was excluded, if only because Stjörnuáti's nips to him would be more aggressive than he would have been with anyone else. Returning the nip to her haunch, he lingered close this time, allowing her to punish him however she felt appropriate, steadfast and sure with the knowledge that he could handle it.
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He laughed again. Just how he must have thought of her to be a joke was infuriating - perhaps the worst thing about him she had to be honest. To be treated as a joke, how he almost showcased her off to the group he was in in their previous meeting. Then she paused... something was clicking after his retaliation nip and he just... hovering there.

“You sick fuck.” She mocked, this time finding humour in what she had just discovered. Offering a mild laugh in return as if it was almost all too obvious. “You enjoy this don't you?” Lets see how much he enjoys getting his face chewed on. Testing her little theory here, she'd whip around with the intent of knocking his face, cutting through the skin with a swift bite. 

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Her accusation made his grin widen, his tag wag once behind him as she asked what could have been a rhetorical question. He treated it as if it was, a mirthful rumble leaving him as she flashed those teeth towards his muzzle. He let her catch him, let her score his face as he would no other, seeking only "gentle" retaliation in return. His own teeth groped for her ear, grabbing the soft sensitive flesh and shaking it lightly, as though it were a leaf.
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He didn't reply, nor did he have to. The delighted reverberation was enough to signify just how right she was, that he was just a sucker for punishment and she - well, was always welcoming a new punching bag. Naturally he too retaliated, taking her ear into his mouth to which she growled. “If you're going to do anything, don't treat me like some fragile thing.” Without realizing, she may have gotten a little excited herself. To find some kind of partner who she didn't have to take it easy on, to gently step around his fragile male ego and just be herself... and he liked it. 

As if to push her statement on not being treated gently, the woman pressed her jaws against his neck. Where the jaws met his throat and squeezed just enough to barely pierce the flesh unless he pulled away. She wanted to be roughhoused, she pressed for it. Bring it on she thought. She was victorious last time and she would be again.

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She didn't know what she was asking for, not really. Stjörnuáti was not a wolf to stop and tell her of her folly, either. Instead, he would teach her this lesson.

Her teeth touched his throat. Fur along his spine bristled. There was no warning, no prelude. She didn't want to be treated lightly? Fine. A jerk of his head pulled him free of her teeth before he rushed her, grabbing her by the scruff and shoving her front half down, into the snow. He held her there, front paws caging her, corded musculature tense and strong as he ignored whatever thrashing she might act out with then.

Seconds went by. A minute.

His jaws relaxed, muzzle pulling from her neck to near her ear. “You will piss on this one's mountain no more unless you wish to lose the pretty tail.”
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In a moment she was face down, ass up - in her words "presenting" if it weren't for the blockade of her tail refusing to give that image as it swept closer to her heels in an action of defiance. Bristling, waiting... waiting for him to let go of her neck so she could move once more, and as she half-stood there stiffly, eventually he did.

“Fine by me, I'll shit on it instead.” Quickly she twisted around on the ground, letting her rump hit the ground so she could hopefully position herself sideways, pushing up with her forelimbs to see about holding his throat again with no more force than a threat (of course if it succeeded). 

Even if she didn't want to be treated delicately, Thalia was complex... not wanting to be treated like some lowly bitch either. There was a balance, a sweet spot in between. “Does that make it any better?” She purred dangerously.

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Those teeth were on his throat again, eliciting a low rumble of warning from the gilded male. She would not best him, not here, not on he and his brother's mountain. He would not allow it. Though he did not want to tame the little spitfire, he would not let her burn him, either; he shoved her again, this time pressing his throat into her teeth, using his large body to put hers off balance. Unafraid, unmoved by her thread, ever the viking who would run headlong into battle, Stjornuati presented her with a mere two choices: She could either bite and kill him (or severely wound) or let him go.

Here, on their precipice he stood, rumbling quietly, urging her to make her choice. To her tease, he gave no verbal response and instead waited, dark eyes glinting in the tundran sun.
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The nameless man growled at her new threat, saying nothing in turn other than pressing into her teeth this time as he nearly pushed her back down against the ground with it. She was not gentle either, feeling his pulse against her tongue and fangs. It would be all too easy to end him here and now. To bite down and let the sweet nectar bathe her in the snow in a glorious red shower of victory.

Instead, reluctantly she loosened her grip. With a deep frown across her features until a rare, softer, expression came across as she licked the place where her teeth were pressed just moments ago. Running her tongue through his fur in long, purposeful strokes, there was nothing shy or timid about it.

It would be waste to kill him here she supposed. Her more relaxed posture under him looming presence and submissive licks against his throat said more than her words ever could, or would, as for her actions simply spoke louder than any voice ever could. There were few men like him around, most couldn't handle her attitude. Maybe he was growing on her after all... like some kind of wart, but growing on her regardless.

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They stood together on that razor's edge, her teeth in his fur, against his flesh, the wind at his back and a glimmer to his gaze. He could feel his pulse beat beneath the writing scrawled upon the wall, the danger lying in the sweet press of her threat. It was not that he wanted her to do it but that he wanted to know the tentative limits of her fire and flame.

Moments that felt like minutes. Minutes that felt like hours. Time passed fluidly around them, a slipstream of thoughts and choices that passed them by, until she made the only one that mattered. The little dragon withdrew her fangs, instead laving a pink tongue across the marks she left behind, a touch soft and sweeter than honey. Stjornuati was not a fool to think this marked him as safe from her wrath, only that she had decided to stay her teeth for the moment.

Yet silent, the gilded male gave her similar treatment, dragging teeth through the fur at the base of her ear. It was a simple signal that he accepted this moment of peace between them, the nudge that followed a similar form of unspoken language. From her, he now turned, stepping inward to his lands, wordlessly inviting her to explore the lands she had yet to touch.
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