Legend has it that the moss grows on the north side of the trees

Timed July 24 - Day 2 of Heat

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 The witch moved, an apparition through the mist.

 Her paws carried her upon scarred wrists through the fog that gathered and spread, curling about her. This foggy place was not the territory of the man of the mist, she had made sure. She was keeping care to avoid that land, avoid any land that he might claim is his. While the musculature of that hellish man did tempt her in her current state of mind, she knew.

 If she crossed him again, he would devour her.

 And not in the good way.

 So onwards she moved, shifting and dancing through the fog, paws tracing the rocks she remembered. To the east was the land of the deer-whore and her little deer followers. If they did not spread since she had last wandered here, she would be safe of their hounds. Still, she was close and she mocked it by moving to the rocks that she knew high above poked above the mist in their sharp crags, teeth into the sky. She rose to her hind legs, paws reaching up to scratch at the rock wall, eyes closed as the jarring sensation of claw to stone sent shivers up her spine.

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+1 Discovery Points

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The ailing and beaten oftentimes found themselves bedridden; a host of negativity leeching upon frail minds and bodies. It was a common occurrence among the practitioners, to weed out the sick and remove them from the healthy. Whereas Flynn was no more debilitated on the outer looks than any other passing bloke, the broken caverns that bellowed empty melodies inside his skull were far more monstrous than any beast he'd set viridian eyes on. It drove hardened feet beyond the dwindling comfort of home, it cast sails to places he had no business going. 

And it was here he stood now; nostrils flared, muzzle collecting spit.

It was a fragrance that stung like a bee yet offered its honey, an intoxicating scent of betrayal and curiosity and morbidity. The young sire had only caught wind of it so many times in his dauntless existence, never in those moments was he old enough to have lavished in it. A boy he stood, but a man he was in many ways he'd yet to discover.

Yet this perfume was familiar, a hint of spice he'd savoured before but never got the chance to truly touch. She'd laid with him, enraptured by their clear and oh-so-silent fondness. By now, he'd memorised her, taking her into his lungs to keep as a memory in case she ever got too far away from him. But that wasn't like Meissa to stray away, but there was still a gentle hope inside of his lulling chest that she'd followed behind.

Still, he did not move, not until a sudden territorial impulse caused him to hike his leg. Perhaps his heart was too slow, too cowardice to stake claim to the woman he'd slept with, but his loins had another, far less ideal plan.

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 A vaguely familiar scent caught her attention, though the differences from the scent she had studied and this one were readily apparent. While she had met the pack's deer firsthand and she had known the layered odor of the pack, this one was different.

 It was laced with blood and testosterone.

 So, she had lured in one of the deer-whore's little followers? Excellent.

 When she leaned to look around the stone, the man was barely visible in the distance, standing still within the fog. What sweet irony was this that the witch and the buck did not even know, that the woman this man thought he smelled was in fact so intimately tied to herself and then, with a snipping of teeth, severed... so many years ago.

 Andraste stepped back into the grasp of the stones, circling around them so that she was moving away from the man and into the jagged clusters of stone that would protect herself from view but not from hearing. As she danced into the grasp of the stone, she let out a low, beckoning howl: I'm here.

 Come find me.

 And thus the angler spun her lure into the mountainside. Whether she would feast, play, or let him have a taste... well, she had yet to decide.

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+1 Discovery Points

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Lethal bellows summoned him; idiocy driven by lust and possessive nature lulling his flexing structure to follow close. Where once a scout's keen vision would aid him, he allowed these precious capabilities to fail, eradicating himself, falling into a quickened pace as his suddenly rejuvenated muscles stepped forward. By now, his senses were raging. A pup of milk and fairytale unraveling into a mindset he wouldn't recognize by daylight.

He had his reasons, like any other male in pursuit, and greed had been the driving factor. Through hushed interactions, he'd made a quiet vow, and with the sounds of her mewling strumming the harp at his ear, she'd accepted.

She was also taunting him, an action that brought a grin to his muzzle. “I see no reason to prolong the chase, you know I was built for this.” A ringing in his voice: ego, confidence. Stringing heavily in his vocals until finally, supple eyes locked onto his target.

She stood tall, scarred, pale as the claw-moon dipped in mist. A demon birthed of bone, ash, dust. Meissa, she was not, though by now, there was a shaking in his throat, it hadn't been fear, nor cursed oddity... but disappointment. 

A lowly grumble fell from him, talons scraping the old stone floors of the cave as he closed their distance.

He stood once more, not a word on his lips as he tried his hardest to wrap his thoughts around what the hell had just happened, or, better, who the fuck this was. She was... Still very much in heat, and his mind, jumbled and repulsed, still had no control over the growing of his loins.

Oh, what joy this was.

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 The man answered her call with bravado, a note of familiarity in his voice. She almost cackled, did he think she was someone else? Oh no matter, she would make her play even if he thought she was some already known lover of his, for while his scent carried the spray of Elkshire, this man was a stranger to the witch.

 He followed her into the cave, where she watched him approach, his leggy saunter striped with muscle. He was no Caligula, but oh he'd do.

 She came towards him, her shoulder brushing the wall as she moved to inspect her hunter, this man who had come so far from home to find her. “Why, you almost look disappointed,” she mused, lips curling into a smirk as she surveyed the man who seemed more confused than interested.

 Despite his confusion, she could smell the arousal upon him, could see the evidence where he kept it most dear, hidden away between those legs that could bound for miles.

 The witch, the cougar, traveled closer and still hugging the wall, wagging her pitifully short tail to spread her scent, though she knew it had to be surrounding them now, flooding the man's senses. “Are there no women in these woods?” Her lips perked into a smirk and, if he had not reversed course, she would attempt to survey him from the side and then the rear - blocking his exit as she amused herself with her inspection.

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He knew where he was. He knew what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what had led him to do it; not that it had occurred yet, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind that it wouldn't. Even with every strain of his being screaming at him to evacuate, there he stood. Alpine, tall, unmoveable. The only noticeable flinch in his neck was given as she circled the blond prince, forested eyes closing momentarily to release a sigh into their unfolding environment.

He recognized his fault as soon as he'd stepped through the door. “Dissapointed is an understatement,” He spoke out like it truly mattered. It didn't. “Luckily I've grown used to being unsatisfied a long while ago.” Just as those around him had worn his hind in their own disgruntlement. But what was he to do? Beg?

He'd grown tired of it. Of this life, of these false people, of this... Woman.

“Why yes... You are a woman, aren't you?” Beastly and beaten, but surprisingly a woman. He'd be damned the Gods curse him the way they did but have the audacity to bless her with heavenly stench. It was as if her entire existence was a mockery to his own, but nevertheless, he found ample legs slowly following her footsteps. “It seems despite my valour, none are interested. Nothing remarkable, really.” He couldn't even get his own mother to love him, and she imagined another lady would look his way?

Well.

She was.

It was astounding how desperate he was for physical affection.

A puff of condensation blew from hot nostrils, flexing muscles arching upward and downward along his body; tail flailing pompously in the air as if he were some sort of show horse. A gentle release began between rippling thighs, then a damp heat slipped out of his skin to pause, erect, to cool off. There was no controlling his senses, they were all but lost and abandoned.

In a world where not a single soul wanted him, the only purpose he seemed to now serve was a rather primal one. If he were to die forsaken, unrecognizable by a cult of bigots, then at least he would perish with the possibility of being rebirthed elsewhere.

Whether or not the stranger purely wanted him was not of his cares, this was no longer for pleasure alone. He lusted for positive emotion, for anything other than abyssal numbness. 

She wasn't Meissa.

But when happiness left him, he'd always been good at pretending.

( fade to black, if you will. )

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 Disappointment was no matter, not when she could tell that despite whatever reluctance the man thought he had, his body was telling him something much different. She slowed as he began to follow her, letting her scent sink in and flood his mind, clouding his judgement. It clouded hers, also, with desire and sick mockery. Caligula would hate this but in a way, she was doing it for them. For what better way to punish the deer whore than to claim something from her people, from the men who followed her? If she bore a child from this man, that child would be used to torment the deer followers.

 Oh, it was despicable, but what lovely vengeance she felt boiling up within her.

 At first she had thought to rough the man up, tease him, play with him - but it seemed fate and her season meant that her joy would be tenfold. This man, this follower of the deer whore who hated those of white pelts - he would become one with one of the most cursed beasts to walk the land. Her lips curled into a smile, “What a shame...” she murmured, drawing nearer. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

 And she would, oh she would. If he did not pull away from her, she would kiss him, tongue washing his face before she moved under his head, brushing up against his throat with her spine. His stink was upon her and hers upon him.

 She would defile the poor prince in his time of weakness.

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- fade to black! now go say 5 hail mary's -

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When all the laws of nature applied, the male faltered. Pulling, pressing, squirming to release his own grip upon that of the cursed war maidan. The very grit of his feet threatening to split the hollow rock into shards as a caterwaul of drool-laced snarls ripped from angry teeth. He'd gotten what he wanted, what he thought he'd wanted, but felt cheated nevertheless.

The Prince no longer craved this, he'd never craved this, not with a stranger! Thus with every grudging step backward, he tore apart his own flesh. A bright stream of blood coated the inners of his flexing hind, all until a rumbling, muttered moan left his lips. Pop. There was a satisfaction in the pain, the misery. A deeply-rooted burning that clawed up his throat with claws outstretched. He stood with himself, knees trembling, loins of deep flesh and crimson dripping with two forms of life. If he hadn't been in such agony, maybe his ego would be impressed with himself, as the sound of liquid hitting the now-damp stone floor didn't have to fall very far.

“Why do you smell like Meissa?” His question was odd but targetted, and frankly a question he should have asked much sooner than he had. “Why do you even roam this close to our home? You are no fool, you know better than to shadow these... These people.” Tattered tongue soon a cherry hue as he achingly brought himself to sit, to tend to his new scar. It was a ghastly thing, running from the base of his bulb to the middle of his shaft, but something about it made him more aroused than anything else. “I should honestly be making you clean this off.” Wincing, tail thumping slightly. This wouldn't be something he'd be getting treated by a medic, that was for sure. Where the hell would he even start? At least Rosemary was blind, but that thought also struck fear into him.

“Who are you?”

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 The man's discomfort was noted but altogether irrelevant for the woman, her own snarls meeting his in a cacophony of noise. He ripped himself away and she started forward, spinning around to face him, panting. He began to care for himself so she did so also, licking away both his blood and her own from her bruised delicates. Had she not already had a decent run of her season, she would have been rather bitter about the discomfort she was sure to feel.

 Then he spoke and one word left his lips that made her pause.

 Meissa?

 She looked at him, squinted hard. “I knew a Meissa once... the question is, how do you?” Her tongue swept up and over her tattered lips and she shook her fur out, scoffing at his further questions. “Dear boy - or might I say horse man with the size of that thing,” a chuckle at her own stupid joke, “The packs of this forest need to learn they don't own every last scrap of air. This is not in her borders, it is not hers. Simple as that.”

 Regardless... she had absolutely come here intentionally.

 She smirked at him, “Why, I'm sure you'd like that,” she said, licking her lips and laughing. “You can call me the White Witch, if you call me anything at all.” Would he go about chattering about how he got laid or would he whimper and hide, realizing the one he stuck his dick in was one that his queen would abhor? Surely she didn't want more little cursed babies popping up sharing their pack's blood?

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His teeth clattered in blood, head rendering upward at a rate that dignified his animosity. There was something that twisted his nerves when she said her name. Meissa. As if the woman before him had some sort of emotional tie, a happening that occurred she wasn't proud of.

Suddenly everything she'd said prior mattered not, still, he would give a small smirk to her poorly tasting joke. “You say that name with spite in your throat, have you done something to her?” His hunger for sex had been sated; all the questions he should have been asking finally pouring over deafened ears.

He wondered exactly how much she thought he cared about her colour, better yet, how much she thought he currently cared about what might happen to him. She was only wasting her breath at this point. “Claimed or not, we both know with your appearance if a member who gave a fuck came by, what would happen.” He said it straight to her face, he didn't give a shit about her snowy ass. Shit, he had a stain on his back that was a few inches wide and they couldn't care less about him. “Even if you have your own allegiances here if they aren't something substantial it doesn't matter how hard you fight.”

Standing, shaking himself off, huffing. “I don't even know how the fuck I got here.” But he knew he wanted to leave. It was only a matter if she'd let him.

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 She looked at him, turned serious for a change. “No - I loved her. She was the one that could survive, the one I kept alive.” There was a growl in her voice, then it soothed into a chuckle*. “That was years ago, hon, I'm sure she's forgotten all about dear old mum by now.” Her eyes flashed and she grinned. Could he tell if she was telling the truth or lying? She knew, but did he? “Anyway, I'm sure my Meissa and yours are different. Mine wouldn't have gone to Hell, and yet here we are.”

 The witch rose and stretched languidly, yawning exaggeratedly.

 He thought they could hurt her - ha. Death couldn't hold her inside the earth below them, how could a puny pack of inbred deer worshipers do anything worthwhile to her?

 “Yes, I know what would happen,” she said softly, almost mournfully, eyes downcast for a moment before they shot up to him, beaming with excitement, lips peeling back in manic joy,

 “I'd eat them! ”

 She cackled and trotted towards the fall wall of the cave, opposite the one she'd hugged before, and kicked something his way. A half-eaten skull of a wolf, eyes long since consumed, still carrying tatters of its neck and muscles. “Want a meal for the road?” she said with a smirk, “You'll need it, that looks like a nasty boo boo.”

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* I imagined the last 3 panels of this webtoon page for this part

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There came a time in every man's life where they needed something stable, to announce a new leaf had been turned for them and that they were able to draw a line in the sand. Currently, the line Flynn had drawn was shaking because he was unable to grasp anything the woman had said long enough before she began yelling. Then followed the manic laughter as she tossed out a dead body of a wolf that was already so ugly he imagined they'd made a death bargain. For a second he felt as if he were going to vomit, but then he realised he'd also kicked himself in the nads in that whole ordeal.

He knew it wasn't normal to enlist this sort of reaction to something that was clearly mortifying, and though his head was reeling, it appeared the lights in his eyes had long since shut off. All he managed was a crooked grin and cough. “I wonder how many people can say they've fucked their friend's mum, if you're telling the truth that is.” He'd wince at the corpse, turning tail to look towards the exit. “What did you say your name was again? The White Bitch? This is going to make one hell of a story, I'll tell you.”

Flynn, although trembling, hadn't processed everything yet. It was clear his brain had shut everything out. “Um... I'm good on food, I think... Tell your friend I'm sorry about their face... I've got to go uh... Home I guess.” He'd stumble around, romping out of the cave like a drunk toddler.

exit maybe, unless he's stopped.

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 Her laughter rang out, crude and unkind. Oh, so this guy was her daughter's friend? That was going to go over so well, she thought with a shake of her head. When he called her a bitch she just grinned winningly, completely expecting the insult and reveling in it. There was something so satisfying about messing with the heads of the Elkshire wolves, especially ones that didn't have the brainpower to try to end it (it being her) while they still had the chance.

 Perhaps it was the little tie between them now, that shared memory that could not be erased.

 Perhaps he was just a coward.

 “Tell Meissa I said hello,” she called with a laugh before watching him go. Then, she snagged a quick bite from her prey. She hadn't expected him to stay and eat, not by a long shot - but it was so satisfying to see him freak out when she offered it. After a swallow or two, she left the cave and rolled in the nearest patch of something vaguely smelly, to clear her scent before she were to head away. If he were to run home to mommy and tell about it all, she'd need to be on the road quick.

 Though, somehow, she didn't figure he would want to tell everyone he'd slept with their worst enemy. Did he realize it, what might happen? She would have to come visit again sometime. Especially if her daughter was here.

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Exit! Time for me to be nice to Flynn for awhile :')

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