[ P ] Light of the Earth

[This thread takes place very shortly after Yvaine met Valerian.]

Yvaine stood in the wide swath of green, surrounded by spring flowers that blossomed across the cliffside like the colors of the rainbow shimmering through a prism. In the distance, the sea swelled and roared, carrying a wind that rustled through her fur, blowing it back from her delicate but sharp features. The scent of the salty air mingled with floral perfumes. A tantalizing bouquet. Spring was still an infant, like the sun peaking over the rim of the earth at dawn, fresh and promising. This was Alban Eiler, the Light of the Earth, the spring equinox cherished by the druids since time immemorial.


This was a critical time, a time to embrace the sun as well as the night.


In ages past, wolves of her order would have taken embers from the sacred bonfires, lighting two in honor of the fae god Belenus. His sunlight radiated heat to set passions and fertility ablaze, guided by the expert hands of the Cailleach as she left her reign. But wolves rarely celebrated Beltane in Rionnach anymore. It wasn’t like the banduri witch’s childhood, when reverence to the fae and deities ordained a wolf’s path. But Yvaine found different ways to stoke her flames. The witch’s silver eyes closed as she concentrated on the caress of the breeze against her limbs.

table ; bunny

@Finch

Running
against the wind

For Finch, the night was no different than the daytime. Sleep was elusive. His muscular form stalked through the forest like wolf possessed, a stormy pelt good camouflage in this place. Each footfall was haphazard; the brute ignored any sticks or rocks that lay in his path, felt no pain in his enormous paws despite his careless steps.


News of the protest had spread like wildfire, from the scene of the violence through the Lowlands, and into the heart of the Highlands. The whispers spoke of deaths and war. But the worst news had just arrived – Blythe Eleos, a lifelong Highlander, had been sentenced to death days ago. A tempest of emotions – burning rage tinged with shock – why had his mother gone to the protest at all, much less alone. He wanted to scream. The thought of ripping the false king’s soldiers apart consumed his imagination as he moved through the area, alone. He did not desire company in the abyss of the night.


Until…


A new scent caught the attention of the brute, and without further thought, Finch turned toward the direction of something both mysterious and alluring. His lip curled back to reveal ivory canines, something between a smile and a snarl. Within several long strides, the male discovered an enchanting fae, with a pelt decorated in shades of earth and of midnight. Finch cleared his throat to announce his presence, not wanting to make the fair lady nervous. ”Good evening,” he said, since it seemed like the sort of thing that was nice to say. ”I hope that I’m not disturbing you — I merely…”


It was not often that Finch interacted with females…. Or, really, ever. He had been trapped in a youthful body for far too long. But the femme’s scent emboldened him to attempt to finish the thought: ”I just wanted to greet you this beautiful night,” he offered with a stiff nod intended to be courteous.



@Yvaine

The wind carried his scent away from her, and when the male cleared his throat, the woman should have been surprised. But she glanced over her shoulder smoothly, no shock evident in her brilliant, steely gaze. A beast stared back at her through ocean eyes, as deep as the ocean, violently rich in color. She drank him in, trailing the paths up his muscular limbs, across his broad chest, and down the straight line of his grizzled muzzle. He was young. And friendly, it seemed, greeting her with a halting, polite voice. And yet, there was something hidden beneath the surface of his coastal pelt. Undercurrents of tension, perhaps sorrow, perhaps something fiercer…the witch could not divine. It was enough to intrigue her.


The hellfire woman turned to him, baring herself like a sorceress dropping her silken robe to the floor. Her nakedness was glorifying, a priestess and witch feeding off the power of the equinox. She did not move, but he was close enough now to tempt her with the subtle scent of tanned hide. It was the complement to the fresh perfume of blood and herbs that ordained her. For several moments, she did not speak at all. It might have been long enough to confuse the man.


But torture was mere foreplay. True pain should mix with passion.


“Disturb me, please,” she replied, her voice husky and deep, utterly feminine. “These are disturbing times…we might as well take control.” She grinned, wondering if his reaction would reveal anything about his beliefs. Something glimmered in her eyes, yearning him to come closer, but still she did not move. “Is it the beautiful view that brings you to the cliffside?”

manip + code: clae
@Finch

Running
against the wind

Is ait an mac an saol - life is strange, as his Blythe had always said, words uttered long ago by the Highlanders of ancient days. The phrase suddenly struck a different chord within Finch. He did not believe in destiny, had no thoughts of the future. Instead, Finch longed for the here and now.


After all, he had nothing left to lose.


“Disturb me, please,” the stranger urged, ad Fich was happy to oblige. She was a beautiful siren, discovered that evening, alone and dazzling — as if she were there for Finch alone. The enchantress spoke of taking control, and like magic, Finch found himself moving closer to the dark temptress. The sultry wolfess inquired if the brute had come to admire the view, and Finch chuckled softly. ”Well, no, not exactly,” he began in a deep voice, willing away his nervousness that still lingered due to lack of experience. ”The view doesn’t compare to my present company.”


What was he supposed to say next? No one has ever told him what to do in this sort of situation. But he was too wild, too pent up to back down now. And this nameless femme, still a stranger to the brute, was an excellent distraction – if only for now. His nostrils flared, the scent of her all the more alluring in closer proximity.


He sat close to the wolfess – not too near, as his hungry eyes roamed her features. Finch was not one for words in any given circumstance, but today, the Highlander found himself struggling. The sight of her, that indescribable scent – his head was swimming, as if he were intoxicated.


The anxiety of this newnesss coursed through him; his fury emboldened him. "What brought you to this place?" Or, more importantly, he hurriedly added: "And do you intend to stay for a while?"



“yvaine”

He was charming, even if he didn’t mean to be. But Yvaine wasn’t won through compliments. The witch’s only priorities were a handsome physique and strength of conviction. Her lips twitched upward, eyes flickering hungrily over his coastal pelt and the way it rippled as he closed the distance between them. Then again, she was the one hunting tonight. There was very little the boy had to do to bed her. Which, she thought with cruel satisfaction, was for the best: a gentle pain and genuine awkwardness lingered beneath the surface of his facade.


Oh, if she could stir that discomfort to a froth, brew it, drink it deep. She would rip into his flesh and dig until she found the source, then devour him.


“It’s Beltane,” she smiled, tilting her jaw up toward his with a smile. Her long neck exposed. There was barely a breadth of fur separating the pair. To her back, the waves crashed wildly against the cliffside. “I will stay until my…celebration…is complete.” Slowly, the woman’s charcoal paw drifted closer to his. If the male did not move, her claws would trace up his ankle, so faint—merely implying the sharp truth of their touch. A light like the heavens burned in Yvaine’s eyes as she uttered, “Do you practice the old festivals?”

manip + code: clae
@Finch

Finch watched the stranger closely, spellbound by each graceful movement the woman made, the spark of intensity in her silver-hued sights that roamed the young male’s giant frame. A dainty paw caressed the fur on his leg, setting the brute’s heart to race double-time. So close they could touch… his body seemed to go rigid for a second or two as she inquired about festivals.

In truth, Finch had never much interest in learning the ancient ways native to wolves of the north; now, he was beginning to regret his disinterest. But he reached far back in his memory for hints of the ancient ways Finch was quiet for a second longer before he offered, ”Mar a bha e, mar sin bithidh e,” - As it was, so shall it be. Spoken like a true Highlander.

Finch did not know what this siren was capable of — nor did he care much where her motivation lie. He did not even think to ask for her name, his mind swirling with a hundred thoughts, animal instinct seizing control as he lowered his face to muzzle into the soft fur of her exposed neck, breathing her in as.

”Will you show me how you celebrate?”

He teetered on the edge, suspended in a moment without breath, without time. And then he spoke the words that plunged them both beyond the precipice of desire. As it was, so it shall be. The banduri witch’s eyes widened, mirroring the ecstasy of her smile. From the moment she was born, she believed the fates tugged on invisible puppet strings—every step led them closer to destiny. As surely as the moon’s cycle, as righteous as the order of the stars, as wild as the fae beyond the veil: this male was meant to visit her on the emerald cliffside. It was his duty to fulfill her, to feed the flames of the woman. He was a gift the fae strung in her path. And she was the vessel that would bear new wolves to worship the ancients and tear this pathetic new world to tatters.


As it was, so it shall be again.


Yvaine moaned, a breathy, feminine sound. Her spine arched as she leaned closer to the male’s taut figure. His touch sent shivers through her limbs. Even so, the older she-wolf sensed his inexperience. It delighted her. The witch was used to taking control. “Pleasure,” was the only response she whispered, the only explanation. The ecstasy was already bubbling with anticipation, her blood fiery hot. She swayed, brushing her body against his, fangs snagging the side of his neck with feral need.


It was important in this ritual to forget oneself, to forget time, to forget shame. There was only the body. There was only indulgence.


[Fade to Black?]

table ; bunny

@Finch

Running
against the wind

”Pleasure” She spoke the word so easily, her voice low and more alluring with the passing seconds as space lingered between them — barely. Finch could barely hold still, suddenly restless. Temptation and hunger were a powerful motivator, despite being unfamiliar to the youth, a new sort of passion: that driving force that urged him to stay and discover more of what the earthen fae was capable of. Intimacy unexpected; he could feel the heat between them, enough to drive any mortal mad with desire.

He did not consider tomorrow, nor did Finch think of the past. This moment was all that mattered. The nameless temptress was the brightest moon against his black sky. If it was merely a dream, he hoped not to wake.

The sounds that she made, raw and sensual, threatened to steal away any sense remaining in Finch. It was pure instinct guiding him now — along with her, his goddess of the night. If only for this night, he would make this siren his own.

[fade to black]

“yvaine”

[Mature]

There was savagery in her song, cries that cut through the air in an increasingly wild crescendo. Every moan, every moment, was a celebration. Every breath in reverence to the act that, she hoped, would impregnate her. This was what it meant to be female. This was what it meant to embrace Beltane. This was what it meant to embody the cycle of the moon and the sun.


Finch was inexperienced, and at first, the witch would guide him. A gentle kiss, a tender touch, a helpful caress. But by the end, the act was unlike anything he would probably experience with a female his age. This was not love-making. This was the brutality of ritualistic passion.


When the ritual was complete, Yvaine laughed. A sensuous, ominous, but breathy laugh. She rose to her charcoal paws after some time, offering the brute one last nip on his jaw. “Isn’t it incredible,” she murmured, “how time, memories, and worries mean nothing?” The witch’s eyes glimmered, dangerous and bright, and she turned to leave.

table ; bunny

@Finch