Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
His yell brought her attention away from the bear corpses, brow arching as he bounded, reached, and seemed to lift her up for a spin. Her eyes rounded, large and wide in bewilderment, and she didn’t have much time to react until his exclamation brought a feral grin to her features – picking away at all the irritation that had been there before (yeah, she probably was incredible was a thought that ran rampant through her brain for half a second). She cast one audacious little shrug of her shoulders and a keen “Thanks,” before his next move though, and then everything else seemed drowned out after that.
His mouth on hers was a fast and fleeting memory from before, when she’d been the bolder one, and she didn’t give or lend or bend any notions to it. Instead, she lapsed into feeling and the present, taking what was given, granted, freely and foolishly, leaning into the embrace and then trying to find traction on her end. Gloved hands could only do so much to the lapels and grasping his jacket though, so in the slowness she dragged her teeth purposefully over his lips, waiting to see his reaction –
And then he backed away, talked about fires.
Blinking, she could feel her mind striving to catch up with everything, suddenly very much lost and drifting out there on the tundra’s edges. “Right,” she initiated again, head tilting in his direction, brows furrowed as if she was trying to puzzle through the winding, twisting maze and ending up at dead ends each time. Deciphering anything seemed to be a lost cause, so she hastened to what she understood readily, snagging back at her bow and flaming arrows in her quiver.
His mouth on hers was a fast and fleeting memory from before, when she’d been the bolder one, and she didn’t give or lend or bend any notions to it. Instead, she lapsed into feeling and the present, taking what was given, granted, freely and foolishly, leaning into the embrace and then trying to find traction on her end. Gloved hands could only do so much to the lapels and grasping his jacket though, so in the slowness she dragged her teeth purposefully over his lips, waiting to see his reaction –
And then he backed away, talked about fires.
Blinking, she could feel her mind striving to catch up with everything, suddenly very much lost and drifting out there on the tundra’s edges. “Right,” she initiated again, head tilting in his direction, brows furrowed as if she was trying to puzzle through the winding, twisting maze and ending up at dead ends each time. Deciphering anything seemed to be a lost cause, so she hastened to what she understood readily, snagging back at her bow and flaming arrows in her quiver.
Melita
