like a river

fire. her body was consumed by it, burning bright within. it was a flame she was used to, one that she had never had quenched, a hunger that she wasn't allowed to sate.

but dreams... dreams did not count. dreams were dreams and not of this world. and in this dream, the heat that had settled low in her belly was on the verge of driving her mad.

so she loosed a call, seeking someone that would help her, someone that would fulfill this dream in a way that could not be done in the realm of the living.

---

escort

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In her waking life, a deep, cold loneliness had consumed her. It left her hollow and empty. Yet this husk of herself still dreamed of warm golden fur beside her, and when she woke she wished she could flay the skin off her own back.

Tonight, however, when she had closed her eyes--

The air here was warm and humid. It sank into her bones, comforting and distracting in equal measure. Distraction--an unfamiliar scent filled her throat, drowning out the memories of the waking world. Wherever here was, with the hum of strange insects in her ears and the shadows of trees she had never seen before looming above, she was no longer frightened.

She heard a voice, and found herself moving towards the source.

A she-wolf stood before her. She had never seen her before, but this did not bother Merel. If anything, it was a relief: the unknown, the unreal, someone far from her troubles. For a moment, she simply stared at the stranger, her soft form illuminated by silver and fading into the darkness. She allowed herself to admire the other woman openly; something she would never have the fortitude to do in life.

“You look like a piece of the moon itself,” Merel told her softly.

---

@Saga

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The moon. Lovely and bright as it hung in the sky, framed by the twinkle of stars and the dark swaths of night. the moon felt like home, sang to her in a silvery voice that crooned with soft pleasures. such a compliment was undeserved but wholly welcome and valued. cherished, even if it was to be forgotten in the light of morn.

saga would turn then and look upon her visitor, a smile upon her dark face, reaching deep into ocean eyes. “and you, like the molding clay used by mother nature herself,” answered her wavering, silky voice. the woman who approached was a picturesque vision of nature, deep and dark, with the lightening of trees and and dirt and roots. she was lovely.

the seer crooned a low note before gliding closer, bestowing a gentle touch to the others cheek with a cold nose. was she seeing if the other was real? here? corporeal? she surely was, for there was physical sensation against the nerves of her so sensitive nose.

“oh...” a whispered realization. “you smell good, too...”

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