& i will beg you, lord: take me into your cruel arms

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@Antares ♡ staying vague just in case since idk how the previous thread will play out

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she likes to think that she has ridden herself from those tundrian gods. that she had tugged and torn at the threads of fate woven for 'til they had unseamed and they had had no choice but to take notice; seen how she had slipped from their command and how she had taken that aftermath. yet as the montane, mist-laden reaches shakes itself loose in the early, blue-bruised dawn, even as she leaves cloudrest behind, the nightingale knows that she will never be free of them.

or they of her.

breath does little to help in making room within her; for expelling and cleansing. but she takes one anyways, and soon sets down an unworn path; pressing her way through the dead foxtail grasses, taking in the old moss plied heavy upon legs of branch and squat stone as she wanders ever further.

to where, to what, to who, she does not know; but what she does know is that the ache remains as real as the great marring she now bore, even after a whole moon after asamir's recovery; and she knows whatever had been in the salve that the dark mistress had tended to her with might very well be up here. truth be told, though, toting around the ravaged thing that'd become the half of her face almost felt like ...coming home.

half-sight neverminded;
it's just as missed, too.[/narrow]

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After the eerie white tiger sighting, Antares took care to give the garden more attention than before. He ventured into its depths on watch more often and tried to do more hunting of his own there, too. Even if it was only small game for most of his attempts, it was still traffic, and something. It also gave him ample space to stretch his legs and scratch the itch about restlessness without him needing to feel like he strayed far from home. For recent purposes, with the nights so dark and colder than ever, that was exactly what he needed.

Morning had seeped in over the horizon around him, slow and quiet without fanfare. He had found a good groove in his ranging, and a momentum worth the effort to continue tracking on with. The shadow was not ready to turn in back to the mountains, and had maybe begun to dig up an appetite of his own. Still, he didn't commit to anything yet, but what he wanted was the trail to inspire better as he moved lightly onward--stare predatory.

What did come upon veered his train of thought, then had his paws following after the notion quietly. His curiosity did not take much to bait out here like this, so he approached, able to close ground quickly. He sought to reach a space near her side, but wanted to see more first, wondering what pulled her from the foggy reaches of Cloudrest this morning--then, what had gone on in her time since. “You're back,” he greeted along his way there, not unkindly or half as suspicious as he had been last time he found her. Antares lifted his head just enough to look her way properly, aiming to gauge her purpose while he settled into a most comfortable step.

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"funny, is it not, how things have a way of circling back?" her voice was void of a snide drawl and all consideration caught up in light, listless tones — and there, her lone eye: twinkling with silver humor above lips that curled in something languid, lingering, half-bit. she had never been one to shy from the inquisitive, and she would not now; leaning his way with a conspiratorial glint along the edge of her fangs. more wry, more worn than their first formal meet ...but still her. ( whatever that had been. or was. ) the nightingale spoke then with all the informality of one not stiff-backed and sat upon acquainted borders as frigid as anything: "i hope you have not been terribly bored frozen stiff without your tales of those dear southern ridges?"

knows, and does not, why she trills and taunts at him so; only that she finds a sudden unmooring at his being here. taking to his side as seamlessly as he does to hers, and shameless in the way her bright tail flares up to knock impishly at his winterhide ribs.

he ...is a release.

"with paws so great, and eyes as blue as yours," continued she, moving ahead to pick her way over all the dead and wilted things with some lofty sigh, "there is no doubt in my mind that you could bat your lashes at your majesty's request and have been to my wintersgate before the sun rose and set." looks him over from where she stoops to nose among unsalvageable roots, smiling in secret ways despite the great horror that had left its mark so everlastingly into her features. "why keep me waiting?"

he is a release, yes;
to her to her to her.

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It might take him a beat to find the proper stride, but he was there to catch the flicker of mischief alongside the words. While setting off to ponder the circular nature of all things great and small, he tried not to peer too greedily after her scars, blinking when he could see the details better. His curiosity glimmering freely, he eyed her sidelong and let her join his side with a tilt to his head. This focus felt pulled in many ways, but indeed, it did seem to circle back to here, now in this garden. “Frozen, certainly,” he couldn't argue, adjusting to a deepening winter in the tundra no less. Antares had never known anywhere so far north and in these long dark days, he felt it keener than ever.

But, boring? Perhaps at times when he could be grateful for nothing going wrong. He couldn't voice his other restlessness so soon, and so unprompted. It had already led him to anguish in the rest of the tundra, and he suffered still over the prince he had failed to protect.

For not the first time in loitering at the foot of these peaks, he felt too aware of himself--where his paws were, and every fiber after that now knowing what she was looking at them when her remarks pulled at smirk out of him. He enjoyed her warmth, and the proximity did him no harm. Antares still felt like he was getting up to speed here, and the enigmatic cloudsage could effortlessly outpace his knowledge yet. He was reminded that there was much to learn and his ears splayed out, dismayed for a beat.

He was keeping out of the empress' direct line of sight since misplacing her prince son, and out of what exactly, he didn't know. Disgrace? The ranger wanted to pursue, right this outstanding wrong, but he had no trail--not even a trace, while there was tangibility to protect at home. “That may be the case, but.. I do suspect I am not quite to our empress' best preferences,” he exaggerated this huff. Still, he did not always set out to abuse his privilege. “I suppose I have felt needed here. Several reasons,” so he stepped on lightly, flicking his muzzle up and aiming his frown away from her for only a moment. “We've had big cats traveling around and.. hunting near here. Our guards are spread thin enough already,” and his lurking about counted as protection, whether he always saw it as such or not. He paused to shake out his coat. “But soon. I do want to range again,” he admitted while he fought the urge to pry after her time since the last--her scars. Had it really been that long?

Antares felt torn on his itching feet. A wistful look to a faraway horizon was weightier than it should be.

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[narrow width=800]she hopes he's thawed out enough, then; he seemed to, with how he fidgets in place and looks away from her as if to save her the trouble of his own ( however temporary ) chagrin and the dismayed tug at his lips. all this and more she did not mind, all things considered; not even his eying the new-old horror knit along her shattered features as he gave tell of several reasons, and then some, as to why he had been kept so afar from her as he ought not have been. it was the notion of things great and leonine, however, that had her own lips thin with some disdain — and then some humor, too, at the thought of what both their individual dealings entailed together. on everything that was not their own, though, the nightingale said not a word yet.

instead, she rose as his attention remained anchored to the south; abandoning whatever frilly bits of shriveled foliage in favor for the dark rover's person. nearing closer, ever closer, her lilt low, "mm, would that we could range together," giving a gentle, nipping preen to the plush felt at his breast before moving along a corded shoulder to continue with: "if only it were not for my own ... concerns, where our own great beasts are abound."

as much as as she would prefer to not bring up the subject of who indeed had made roost in her high home ... gods forsake her. for now, though, undómiel — "evenstar" is content to nudge the pink of her nose along shiroshikan ribs before curving her jaw against them if only to savor the warmth he brings because hel, it is cold.

but if he minds, then she will step away entirely. [/narrow]

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While his worries might threaten to reach well beyond the here and now, she kept him pulled back to the present, and ever-aware. She was close and he was sparked, focusing on this new strange novelty, as unfamiliar as it was--it didn't strike him in a bad way, so Antares let curiosity have the lean for now. Bit by tiny bit, he could start to relax into it, and all the made easier by the busied mind. “Mhm, we could,” he agreed with a low murmur, wondering what she might know of the mountains, and even beyond. His range was the eastern tundra at best, and he felt painfully small past that now that he truly felt like a denizen of this realm--or at least, the closest to that he was going to become.

He was certain her Cloudrest marked the western edge of what he knew now, and it was not nearly enough. The age-old wanderlust in his blood urged the idea, and she, enigmatic enough already, stoked it. But even then, he still felt the counterbalance of what kept him on guard at home pulling back. More so than a future path he wanted to carve into unknown wilds, his ears tipped at her again, interested in her own great beasts. At first, the Ostrega isn't sure he cares for the thought... “And what concerns are they causing for yours?” he asked, head lifting ever so slightly. A conspiratorial edge, though underlining in concern. He was gauging the severity still.

It occurred to him that it could be all of the same ones that grieved the Shiroshikans. It could even be their likes that scarred her, for all he knew. He wasn't about to rule out the possibility, not so soon, but it was up to her to reveal what she saw fit for him.

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this sounded better in my head im so sorrydugdhdhd

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"we have ...reluctantly taken one into our fold," came her voice once more, this time purled by his hip as she noses her absent way to his flank; rests her pale temple against the rangy, limber virality she finds there as if it's some mere everyday thing between them. "if only to bring two loners into it as well, anyways. i must admit, i ...do not like to have one not born of us amongst our ranks. not that there is even one that i could place him in. ...but perhaps there is some manner of value that my scorn has blinded me to," a flutter of dark lashes reawakening her to this moment; returning her from whatever listless, little rambling she had ventured upon with a cant of her chin over a thin shoulder as she blinks back at him.

a subtle knife-curl at a corner of her lips; his roving attentions along her face a far cry from being unnoticed. "it was not a creature of his kind that ...gifted me with these. i am not sure you would take kindly to the truth of it, though," moving from him with a ghosting shnik! of needly fangs at the hide of his rump; an impish glimmer in her lone gray eye as she quickly steps from where she'd been at his hip, "or what you might do with such a tale." ( as of yet untold that it was, anyway. )

that is, until, she reveals with a mock-hesitant side-eye, just as conspiratorial: "it was a bear," dramatic pause and all before finally, finally chirruping a merry "the end!" and flouncing away with a chesire grin and further into the glacial flora.

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He does listen, but she's warmth in a cold garden pressing against his cool dark shade. So close. He reaches half-heartedly after her at first, trying to distinguish his place, then get comfortable with it. His ears fell back, concentration etched its lines. Thankfully he would consider himself decent at learning on his feet, eventually bold enough to preen gently at a small pass of pale fur--whatever he might reach, a fleeting nibble, a little coy about it.

Even so, Antares found he could relate to their struggle, though he might not fully understand why for Shiroshika's depths with the feline sort; there was one bonded to Reiko even, not counting those wandering the rest of the wilds, which was difficult for him to fathom with where he had come from. “Perhaps there is some gain to it. I don't know yet,” he grumbled. “We have a similar situation, too, I believe..” he murmured through his frown, vaguely, only guessing the empress gained something from a tiger as a charge. He couldn't place his sentiments on the older male that ranged the tundra either. Not mentioning the one that had hunted here and eyeballed him with a hunger he didn't feel comfortable with. Maybe it was because together, they all overwhelmed him.

But, she zeroed him back in to now with bait like that. Ears pricked, he is eager to hear what scarred her so, too curious perhaps for his own good--Antares moved his hips too late, and by the time he could circle back towards her, she had already flitted from his most immediate grasp. He gaped woefully, exaggerating with a click of his own teeth. She is right, he doesn't like the taste of the truth: not cat, not fellow canine, but bear. Such beasts that had stolen many from Moonspear once, brought to justice by his mother with his help. But it had all been too late, so his own bear scars were more unseen, he feared. He fought back the uncomfortable stiffness his hackles threatened him with, but it was ultimately her flash of motion that grounded him to now again. Just like that, she was off, leaving him to gawk. The end. Him, effectively baited, no further details to envision her slaying a bear with or anything.

But perhaps he could earn them still. She had lived to tell the tale, after all and he was not going to be deterred so easily. He wanted to piece it together but was loathe to let her get away on that note. He huffed, then went swinging his head and bounding playfully after her to shake off his tensions. “You must be lucky,” he said, tail taller and swaying, him undecided between defense or offense when he couldn't foresee her response to such a pry: “Or quite fierce in battle..” He guessed on a toothy smirk. “So does it roam free still?” he tried, aiming to swing close to her again with another mischievous click of his teeth.

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unsurprisingly, he pursues her.

but the nightingale lets him; her own tail crescenting high over narrow hips both in the silly theater of it all and as an excuse to ease something much too wound up within her slight figure. "even fiercer still where featherbeds are made," she trilled in return without remorse for boldness, for she would always be as shameless as anything. but the truth of it was that, more often than not, it is the man that melts her waxen. even truer still was the hunger in her own glinting gray eye; the sort that she hopes he might not mind. the sort that she cannot help, even if she wanted to ( which is to say she does not. ) she takes whatever might have sprung between them in stride; leaping cublike away from his swooping advance, thin shoulders and ivory back rounded with a faux-warning grumble wringing itself from between heart and lungs. her tail feathers against a long thigh in a clumsy side-trot; a curl in her lips feels as insufferable as he looks. as for his notion on luck ...

"i don't seem to have run out of it yet. am i wrong?"

his teeth on her skin, worrying away beneath her fur — the echo of it remains even as she stays just beyond his reach. the click of his question bidding a tremble along her snout; if she'd gone on devouring him with her remaining eye alone, she would have forgotten entirely about his prior query. "it does, unfortunately," stout, half-shorn ears flickering this way and that in mild, momentary chagrin. "i would very much like to rest its bones at our summit, however ...we do not yet have the means to do so."

the numbers. or a force willing enough to take part in the tribe's oldest of traditions alongside.

her discontent fades, eventually; stilling into something sly and preening as her gaze flits up the long dark legs and into those deepwell eyes once more. with her features near rent in two, it might be ugly ...but she grins like an imp anyway; daring him to catch her in the next heartbeat.

if he can, of course.

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The spirit made no move to deter his presence, or attitude alike, and with a bit of time, Antares could slot into place nicely, following the lead she set out for him to track. More and more, he started to find a sense of the true challenge to decipher here as she flitted just out of his reach. Doing so ignited something new, like a chase but.. deeper, tinted in more. He was not sure, but only at first. His head perked, able to realize then and there that she was leagues beyond him, and so wonderfully shameless about it.

But, the samurai liked to learn. She might have something for him to hear yet and he couldn't disagree. His tail swayed a slow, curious metronome.. and he let her see him for all his worth--all his questions unspoken, and air hot in his lungs, held tight and navy stare peering back, sincere but mischief remaining for only the most discerning to see. This was forever what urged him forward, closer. Whatever she may need; a shadow could be quite fluid, after all, and each step comes steadier than the last. Bold, instinctive, but listening.. it doesn't belong to him alone. He had well established that she knew far more than him.

For a beat, he was torn as he dwelled on the bear's fate, countenance darkening as it sank further into him. So her story's revenge did not have its proper end yet. But--already, she had good plans for it, bringing a sly glint of teeth from him. Yet she had said so herself. “Perhaps you will,” he suggested, and agreed. No, she should have its head one day. Especially if her wolves could track it somehow, or maybe they had marked it so always, it would remember them.. “My brother, and several packmates fell to one of their likes once before,” he imparted, lowering his nose and shifting again to new motion, towards the pull of her gravity. “It's been many moons and miles, but I'm still keen to see them suffer.” he exhaled with his justification, and hence his interest in her fight. Even if the weight it made in his heart ached; he knew he didn't need to.

And from there, he left the admittance behind and slipped into his preferred silence--sparking anew himself when he saw her grin his way, and all too happy to agree, to let that all go. She posed the finest distraction, and he drew his earliest conclusions; he was no fair trade for proper vengeance, but he was painfully present, all too interested in the chase to not go sweeping forward after her lead.

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[narrow width=800] what she means to say next has naught to do with bears, or other tormented beasts — unless one crept in the vestiges of his skin, too, and waited to spring from the depths of his creature.

 she is more than a bit rosy-eyed for him; more than a bit addled with the way her breath singes the edges of each word, now; heathery heat risen to flush the ruined apple of cheek and make the bulbs of fluted stout ears tremble. when he goes to her this time, the sirenbird lets the press of his darkly angled shoulder lean into the back of her feathery thigh and give a lift to her narrow hips. she makes him feel the soft, ebbing give of her not unlike how he looses a tight breath from far above her. "o, f-feel me—" words die little deaths in her throat, then; she crescents herself about, gray eye gleaming, rolling closed as she bumps her feverish temple against the swell of his chest. parts her slender jaws to place suckling, gnawing messy kisses up the obsidian path of him, wherever he could be reached.

 and then she commands him to her; drawing the black velvet of his snout to nudge against her own half-hauntcraft one; breath searing, ribs shivery against him, rich lilting chords low, and then hissing, grasping, tugging:

 "o, my lotuseater – find me."

 and then the glamour of her scent is gone and she is gone; wisplike and run away into the sprawling frore-loveliness of the garden. chasing something like erasure; hoping to tug him into this hunt of her, with this vivid thread now woven between them.

 with the way her keening beckon arrows clear and calling back to him; breathless, slung from something near-strident in her even as she runs and runs and runs wild and fey and wanting.[/narrow]

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In a lifetime of many magnificent firsts, he wondered only fleetingly. If he shouldn't think this--feel it, either. If it should be something he knows, if there's instinct from another time, untapped. The ghostly sotaherra beckons so openly, yet still measured in silvered, mysterious allure that he comes alive at its receiving end--eyes hawkish, skin prickling--torn, knowing and not all at once. He has slowly, subtly, eased into his necessary-enough comfort.. which makes him more aware of her, what she means when they touch. It's been a steady descent, one that he knows he doesn't control and hasn't from the beginning. No illusions about it, it has never been his place.

Uncertainty sheds from him in greater pieces, now, even despite such realization striking him clean down the middle. She has her power, her peaks fringed in the clouds--and still she is here, too, with him. Unabashed, wild, with her strength far different than anything he could imagine. All of it goading him into more. Making him into more.

With a smoky growl rising in his throat, he would chase with deepening purpose, alight.

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