[AW] hymns of salt and terror;

[Amaroq]

in his own country Death can be kind Where she is wanton with her lust, his need is more instinctual. In his language there is no word for lover, only mate. In his world pleasure is brief and hard-won - a muzzle red with scarlet blood still-warm and a full belly, and riding a storm-surge on a black and moonless night. And yet he knows the same steps to this dance, hears the same music, the thing she wants to sing to like a wolf. Later, perhaps, she will howl - down where the sea steals their voices - and he will join her. Later, perhaps, he will return to his hunt, and he will not be alone. But now, now, his blood thrills at each glint he catches of her fangs, like pearls winking at a girl’s throat. They made him curious, before, but Amaroq is well past asking questions like were you born with those, what do you use them for. Soon enough he will discover what use they are. Before they reach the water, she lets him catch him one more time. Her body is a fire with embers so hot they burn blue; his bends near, his blood melting, freezing, his horn dripping rainwater like tears that turn to ice and tremble like jewels from each seashell-smooth curve. I do not know pleasure without pain, she says, in a voice as soft as the hiss of rain on soil, and in response he shows his teeth in something that is not quite a smile. And then he grazes those teeth, at first lightly and then with more pressure, against her hip as she pulls away again. Wet dark leaves slick along their sides, clinging like kisses, and then they are free in the salt-tinged air. The ocean waits for them and the foam of each wave is a threshold she does not hesitate to cross. The wind is howling, the waves are answering back, sky is a growing bruise. The unicorn tosses his head when she teases, thrusting into the salt-spray; the water is warm to him, as it always is. Now that they are in his element, now that they are home, his wants are shifting again; his teeth feel too big, too sharp, for his mouth. Each step she takes back he matches, smiling like a wolf, and his mane and tail trail behind him on the water like foam, like a veil. he answers. His gaze does not leave her, except to stray to the darkening sky when a fork of lightning splinters toward the sea. It is loud here, above, with the rain and the ocean and the thunder near-ceaseless here in the heart of the storm - oh, but below it will be quiet as a cathedral. Don’t be shy, she says, and he is already before her, chest to chest, treading water. Under other circumstances, he might warn her what comes next; he might tell her, you must take of my blood as I take of yours. He might say It will be worth what comes next. But that laugh echoes in his ears, more intimate than thunder, and her eyes are primordial wild, and her teeth are already sharp. So Amaroq only smiles a saltwater smile, and opens his jaws wide to her throat, and pulls her down beneath the raging black water. @Euryale  amaroq