hell_in_highheels | [oom] Coming Home

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[oom] Coming Home

It's still dark when she wakes, but dawn is already lightning the sky. She dresses in long skirts, her favourite wool sweater, and her grey woollen shawl. And her field boots. The lakeside is rocky, and they're practical.

She makes her way down the stairs to the bar, not really surprised to see a others who are still awake from the previous evening's carousing. She doesn't pause to socialise. She makes her way out the back and down the path to the lakeside, her eyes on the tree line. She walks the shore, rubbing her arms against the chill, putting more and more distance between herself and the bar.

This time it is she who is searching for him in the mist.

He told her not to come after him when the moon was up. But it had set hours ago. The sun was almost over the ridge.

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"Mmmmm, check windows, opacity to fifty percent, please." The effect is similar to a cloud passing in front of the sun.

River stretches in his arms, languid and content. "Hey lazy bones," she purrs, nuzzling at his temple.

"Lazy?" He repeats with an incredulous smile, arching an eyebrow though his eyes are still closed.

He doesn't want her to stop nuzzling.

"S'an expression. An endearment," she mumbles, her nose straying into his hair. His scent is intoxicating. "I wish I could smell the way you can."

She presses closer, inhaling deeply, as if she could just get more information by breathing him deeper.

He smells like a just begun warm summer's rain falling on woodsmoked stone.

He doesn't say anything as his eyes slip open, watching her chin bob.

It is a scent forever woven in her memory with joy, and the expansive feeling in her chest and head that love only just begins to quantify.

"What's it like?" she whispers into his hair. "Hunting?

"It's exhilarating," he says after a moment, choosing his words carefully. He's never had to say this before.

"Sifting through the scents to find the one that would make the best meal and then tracking that creature down is...it's like a game, really, but with a serious goal. And the running is fantastic, to just...lose yourself in the speed of it." It's tricky, he's finding, putting all of this into words. Letting himself fall into debriefing mode helps a bit.

"And finally catching up and bringing the prey down is probably one of the most satisfying things I've ever done."

She hums, pulling back to look into his face as he talks. Her eyes are bright as she listens.

"Ever hunt anything bigger than the rabbits?"

He turns his head so he's facing her more directly, bringing up his arm to help support the position.

"There're deer in the woods. I believe Belar mentioned he could put a few boars out there if I liked." He hasn't. The deer are already more than enough.

She pillows her head on her arm, looking up at him. One hand trails through his chest hair.

"Ever hunt with a pack?"

She can't help but wonder what it would be like to share that experience with him as well.

"Sometimes another wolf will pass through. It's usually just Damocles and I, though." He smiles a bit. "If we've felled a deer, there's always a little meat for the next day, even with the two of us."

She echoes that smile back to him. "I've heard venison can be tasty."

Her eyes stray to where her palm lays over his heart. Her voice grows quiet. "Does it hurt? The transformation?"

"Very much," he says quietly, not elaborating because he doesn't want her to worry about it.

"It's also very fast, however, perhaps half a minute. And it always starts with the eyes."

She touches his cheek and looks into his eyes. "But you wouldn't give it up, even if you could. Would you?"

He doesn't even have to think about it. He just shakes his head and leans into her hand.

"No. It's too useful." And honestly? He likes it.

He frowns, curious and a bit troubled. "Would you want me to?" He hasn't gotten that impression at all but her question makes him wonder.

She smiles, a touch of wonder in her expression. "No, love. No, not for a moment."

Her eyes widen a touch as she looks at him, and her irises darken, her pupils flaring. "Truth be told, I am a touch envious."

He's torn between smiling and worrying at her.

"There are downsides to it," he says quietly. It's important she understand that.

She nestles closer. "You seem to have managed well enough. But tell me." Her tone is a touch conspiratorial.

Her scent is that bright ribbon of curiosity he knows so well, threaded through with same joy he recognises when she's reading a new concept. The joy of revealed secrets.

He can't help but be a shade amused, despite the seriousness of the topic.

"There are instincts you get, not just during the full moon, but all the time. I can't see teeth, even in a smile, without thinking I'm being challenged. I can't make eye contact without trying to figure out which one of us is being dominant. I have to remind myself that people, that humans don't think like that." He doesn't sound particularly frustrated or annoyed by this. It's just the way things are.

"And humans...humans smell like prey, River. Even you." Now he sounds sober.

"Even humans have instincts, even if they don't acknowledge them or even understand them. But you still have your rational mind, your wit, your humour."

She recognises his serious tone, and respects it. It doesn't negate the hint of playfulness in her tone. "And you haven't devoured me. Not in earnest, anyway."

"It's something I'm careful with," he says honestly. He knows he came close to drawing blood this morning. He can see the bruises on her throat now. He doesn't want to scare her off, but she has to understand this. She shouldn't be envious until she knows what she's being envious of.

"But I look at a human and I know that I can catch them, and kill them, and eat them," he states slowly, tone flat and almost cold. The knowledge that he might be about to say something that will make her leave is at the forefront of his mind. He's still in debriefing mode, though, and emotions have never had a place there and she needs to know. He keeps talking.

"If I'm hungry, I want to. I've tried to." And not always because it's been a full moon night. "And I know that used to disgust me, that I could want that," he remembers and he knows most humans feel the same way about it, "but I came to terms with it some time ago."

He's watching her, expressionless, breathing through his nose so to know her reaction. He's already prepared for the worst.

Her scent does not waiver for a moment. If anything, it deepens and grows more complex. She takes his hand, and brings his fingertips to her throat, makes him touch the marks he left, feel the welts and bruises. She winces a little but there is a shiver in her skin too.

When he's done, and she tips her chin back down, she looks into his eyes, her scent one of acceptance, pride, and a fierce devotion.

She believes in him. That much is clear.

Her eyes are more green than grey when she speaks, and her tone is firm and direct. "You are what you are, Richard. And I'm not in love with what you are. I'm in love with who you are."

He relaxes, relieved in so many ways though he doesn't show it. He does lean it to give her a grateful kiss, though.

And then he arches one eyebrow ever so slightly. "But are you still envious?"

She returns his kiss, takes a moment to savour it before pulling back to look into his eyes.

"I think envy is the wrong word. It's an experience I wish I could share with you. It's completely foreign to me. And that intrigues me and entices me."

Richard frowns slightly.

"As long as you understand precisely what it is you're being envious of."

He's still not certain he's explained it properly, given her reaction.

She can't not touch him. Her hand comes up and she brushes the backs of her knuckles along his jaw. Her voice grows quiet as she attempts to explain.

"I simply long to understand you. To understand why it is I have to give you up for three days a month. This -- what we have -- it means I long for you all the time."

My mate.

"And I'm not afraid to follow you into the dark places."

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