[ P ] something to hold onto

She watches him approach almost like a deer in the headlights, like she doesn't know what to do or how to feel about his advance. It gives him the opportunity to reach that velvety patch he'd been reaching for, drawing in a slow breath from her rich scent. He catches the hitch in Nylah's breath, and he smiles slightly against her skin—until her demeanor shifts, her ears tip back, and his smirk falls. Kieran stills, his head tilting slightly so that he can see her face out of the corner of his eye; her expression is tense, and the inward swivel of his ear picks up the faintest growl rumbling from her.

There's a war in her, one that he doesn't understand, but he wants to, desperate to understand this beast she battles with. "Nylah?" he questions softly, his muzzle still close enough for his breath to tickle her fur. He hasn't pulled back, but nor does he make any attempt to further advance, still sitting—still giving her the option to back away. "Are you...afraid of me?" Kieran asks carefully, watching her face for symptoms of change, any subtle indication of the force that drives her. Whilst he doesn't think he's the root cause of her apprehension, he can see that he's awakened something visceral in Nylah, and he has a driving desire to mend her wounds the way she mended his.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

Tonight, Kieran is nothing if not attentive. He missed nothing from the moment he found her. He noticed. Which was a problem. When he asked if she was afraid of him, she scoffed. Afraid of him? Hardly. But what he could do? Well, that was another matter entirely. It also made for a complicated answer. The words caught in her throat and she remained tense, frozen just as he was.

Indecision clouded her stare when she met his eyes. To explain any of this, she would have to give up one of her many secrets. She would have to lead him down memory lane and from there, she would hate the pity in his eyes for the rest of their days.

"No." A mere whisper between them, dropping like a stone from the tip of her tongue. She anticipated a follow up, his digging into her life and dragging skeletons out of her closet.

Still so close, she can feel his breath tickle the plush fur at the base of her ear, she wrapped up in a cocktail of his cologne and body heat. It was as suffocating as it was addictive. Working overtime to do, she ignored the race of her heart against her ribs, hating that the ghosts still had their claws in deep, that he got close enough to witness any of this.

"speech"

code // art

Her mouth says "no", but Nylah's body says "yes," and a thousand other things he hasn't yet learned about her. There's no doubting that she's hiding herself from him—Kieran is equally guilty of the same thing. Telling her anything about Aislinn had been like pulling teeth, not a subject he gave up information on willingly, and this, he's gathering, is Nylah's demon. The difference between them is that when faced with a wall, Nylah pushes until it yields; Kieran respects the boundary.

He nods slightly, more to himself than to her. "I'll never hurt you," he promises on a soft breath of air against her fur, and then he pulls back, putting open space between them. Nylah's stillness says enough for her, and she seems incapable of moving herself either away from him or closer, so he makes the decision in her place. Kieran is not the sort to do anything without resounding consent, offered freely; he won't pry it out of her, now or ever.

Further easing the pressure from his frozen wife, Kieran turns from her to stroll towards the bed of woven branches and nested furs, settling onto the pelts on his belly and laying his head upon outstretched paws. Sleep might be far from his grasp, but his intention is to remove all the pressure from Nylah, making it clear he has no expectations from her. If he lays here awake for half the night off an adrenaline high, then so be it.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

I’ll never hurt you. It’s a promise that hangs between them as he pulls away, giving her the space she needs. She blows out a quiet breath, watching him as he makes his way to the bed, curling up amongst the furs and making himself comfortable. He laid there like he had no intention of rising for the rest of the night. She tracked every movement he made, still suspicious and his acceptance to her rejection. There was no anger, there was no indignation, no claim that she was his for the simple reason that she was his wife. He simply let it go. He walked away. She didn’t know what made her more comfortable, his touch or the sudden distance between them.

Nylah would eventually thaw a moment later, laxity creeping back into her muscles. Dinner still laid, forgotten, on the floor. But a nervous energy coursed through her veins and she knew sleep would evade her tonight, especially if she tried to go to bed now.

With a fathomless look on her face, she carefully put the pieces of her wall back up, ensuring he stayed out. Her weight shifted, as if she were unsure what to do with herself now. “I’m going to go for a run…” She said suddenly. Turning away, she looked back over her shoulder. “Of you’d like to join me…” Surely he wasn’t actually ready to fall asleep. She could imagine the rush of adrenaline still lingering in his veins, keeping his mind and body on high alert after their run in with the coyotes. Sleep was nothing something that would come easily tonight, not without some sort of outlet.

"speech"

code // art

There is no outward symptom of Kieran's agitation—not even a tapping of his nails, or a twitch of his tail. He's used to keeping this particular beast at bay, though it's had to rear its head twice tonight; it doesn't want to be locked back under iron cage and key, but willpower is one of his closest companions. For all the control his brother lacks, Kieran clings to it, hones it, perfects it. One would never guess from his languid position on the bed that he is still a spring wound tight, ready to snap.

He's stopped watching Nylah for her sake, but when she breaks the heavy silence in their den, his deep-set eyes shift back to her, an ear flicking in response. She has the same itch under her skin, calling to his monster in a way he isn't certain he likes or hates. Regardless, he has no intention of letting her run off into the night on her own—not tonight, not right after she's been attacked. Nylah's hesitant invitation saves him the trouble of outright telling her that he has every intention of being her shadow for the rest of the night.

Kieran unfurls from the bedding, his paws softly hitting the floor before he prowls to Nylah's side in wordless acceptance of her query. This time when he draws near, he keeps an island of space between them—subtle, but there all the same—and his chin inclines slightly, giving her the opportunity to lead the way.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

Running was an outlet. Musculature bunched and stretched, long limbs eating up the distance as they crossed the bogs in wordless unison. It was something thaat didn't require thought, she could simply do. Sucking in air to her burning lungs, she felt the release of chaos, the way it ebbed from her bones until it was nothing more than a quiet hum. Something controllable, something that could be leashed and caged. Muscles burned but that didn't stop her. Still, her palms itched, desperate for an outlet, for something to focus her monster and sate its appetite. So she kept going.

Nylah was no small, dainty woman by any means, but she was still slight compared to her husband, which made her faster, allowing her to pull ahead of him, dragging him after her, further and faster. Mud spattered her legs and belly, the dark much disappearing amongst the equally dark fur. She was a mess, to say the least. Crimson evidence still stained her coat, her throat now an itchy mat of coagulated blood. She hadn't cleaned up at all and running only added to it - the woman just as wild as the hinterlands where they lived.

Searching for a distraction, one that could truly pull her thoughts from the darkness, she decided to torment her husband just a bit more. Light on her paws, she dipped and dove, forcing Kieran to either figure out how to keep up or lose sight of her entirely. While she didn't understand why he was looking at her the way he had been all night, she knew enough to know that he was keeping tabs, unwilling to let her part from his sight.

"speech"

code // art

They fall into a rhythm, thundering paws and hearts beating a steady drum in Kieran's ears. The bog is far from a hospitable place, forcing its inhabitants to adapt to survive, and keeping the weak-willed away from their borders. It doesn't make for easy running ground; when they aren't splashing through shallow pools of water, the ground is soft beneath their feet, yielding in a manner that makes their paws sink into the mud. Nylah is lighter than him and has an easier time maintaining her pace, and whilst Kieran is by no means slow, he lacks her fluid grace.

Still, he welcomes the growing burn in his lungs, the ache in his muscles, even the wet squelch of mud crawling up his legs and coating his belly. He lets Nylah lead, but he is always aware of their surroundings, and their proximity to the border, which he has no intention to let either of them get close to again tonight. He can be as ruthless as a situation calls for, but Kieran would rather not face a third bloody event before the sun rises.

He can't see Nylah's face, so Kieran can't read her intention in the moment, which leads to his being caught off-guard when her pace not only increases, but her path changes. He'd allowed some distance between them before, and it serves to hinder him now as Nylah nearly disappears into the underbrush; he cuts out a low growl and hurtles after her, his head snaking down towards the ground. He is not as graceful, nor quiet, nor light on his feet as his errant wife, but Kieran is fast. He's always had to be; she's far from the first moving target he's had to chase.

But he wonders what game she's playing at, what sort of beast she's trying to rouse from him. Does Nylah realize that each step she takes, taunting him through the darkness, only drives up his desperation to catch her? He rumbles a growl again, this one a warning. If she doesn't stop goading him with this foolhardy game, she's going to drag that monster of his to the surface, and he plays to win.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

Nylah doesn’t know what game she’s playing at anymore than Kieran does. Maybe on some level she knows that eventually, he will catch her, a dangerously thrilling prospect. But part of her wants to see how skillful her husband really is, if he’s capable of such a feat, while the other part of her worries that she might live to regret such a choice. She blows hot and cold, always changing from one minute to the next, especially tonight. Pushing and pulling Kieran, forcing him to walk an impossibly fine line. She murmured to the beast he wrestled with, beckoning him out to play with a curling finger - and she did so with the full knowledge that she might turn and bite that very monster.

His growl rumbled across the wet earth. A warning. Her own growl answered him. You can’t catch me! Somewhere behind her, his steps came faster, heavier, the wet squelch of mud under him giving him away. He didn’t mask his sounds, anyone in the area would know he’s coming. She was being hunted.

Kieran wasn’t the first to hunt her though. This wasn’t her first run through the night with a beast in her heels. The only difference was her heart didn’t threaten to beat out of her chest in terror. Maybe she was testing his promise, testing him. Or is it the thrill of hand to hand combat, the prospect of having her husband under her, at her mercy? Whatever it is, it spurs her on, keeps her just out of his reach. Her own monster pants in her ear, hungry for a game of cat and noise, starved for a taste of danger. This monster played till death did them part.

"speech"

code // art

You can't catch me! Like hell he can't. Nylah goads him in the worst possible way—for her. She's seen only a glimpse of the man Kieran really is, kept under lock and key; Nylah is picking the latch, and she has no idea what lays on the other side of that door. He is a product of his upbringing, with little choice to ever be anything else. Ruarc had learned to rule, and Kieran had learned how to enforce it, how to make it so his brother doesn't have to lift a paw in violence if he doesn't want to. It may not have been in his base nature to be a monster, but it had damn well been driven into him over the years with precise and ruthless accuracy.

Her growl eggs him on, blurring the lines between Kieran and his beast until he isn't certain where one ends and the other begins. It seems as though Nylah wants him this way, wants to see how far she can push before he's spiraling over the edge and losing his sense of control. Perhaps she thinks she can drive him to throwing his promises out the window, as if they're superficial and not an ingrained part of him. As if he hasn't meant every word he's ever told her.

He's nearly on her heels now, blind determination driving him with a single-minded focus. This is the predator who hunts down prey for his Ceannaire without hesitation or mercy, the villain capable of dragging out answers over hours if he has to. Nylah has dragged him out to play, and there is very little of Kieran-the-husband left of him now. His paws still thunder with rapid fury, but he doesn't growl again, just barrels faster and faster through the woods with the unfaltering willpower of a killer. It's the fact that enough of him is still present, whispering in the back of his mind, that keeps his jaws from snapping at Nylah's heels whenever they're in reach. Instead, he seeks to surge forward and close that remaining gap, attempting to bully his weight into her from the side to try and throw her off-balance.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

His answer is his sudden proximity at her heels. Suddenly he's there, his breath hot and fast. There is a no growl, no spoken demand for her stop. There is only the labored promise of her capture. But Nylah is no inexperienced maid playing with fire. From the day she was born, the sole female, her place was secured. When her sister was born, it was written into stone. Nylah is, and always would be, a Queen. She does not bend to the whims of men, even those who had tried to steal her crown, those who tried to not just break, but shatter her. He is not the first man to step into the arena with her, and he certainly wouldn't be the last.

She would not shy away from the monster that chased her fervently through the bog. She did quite the opposite.

Kieran was beside her, just barely, just enough of his shoulder at her hip that he could try to knock her off her feet. But Nylah was sliding to a stop then. She threw the brakes on, digging her paws into the wet ground and feel the impact travel up her legs and into her shoulders. With forepaws out stretched in front of her, she drops her head at the same time. She risks getting a kick in the mouth, but snapping jaws are aimed at his ankles, intending to return the favor.

There is nothing she would love more than to see him at her feet, though she's not so naive as to think it would be an easy feat getting him there. Mud already caked her legs and undersides, blood still stained her skin and this was only the beginning. She wears it like the finest of gowns, like its a ruby necklace wrapped around her throat. No matter what Kieran had faced in life, he's not faced her.

"speech"

code // art