The indigo twilight yields control to the brazen, sterling expression of the eternal and unflinching queen. With radiance and tenderness, she baptizes the countryside in tranquility. Irregular currents become tame…allowing the motionless water to pay tribute and reflect her flawless, unhindered fullness. Diamonds of countless number begin to fill the night sky, one after the other; their breathtaking, twinkling smiles guide our flawless nestling, our swallow, into a dream world that suits a child of privilege. Miette drifts sweetly on a cushioned bed of lichen; her crystalline irises, nearly always overflowing with curiosity and delight, have surrendered their fight. Excitable, contagious laughter is traded for calm silence. And having just overindulged her expanding midsection, it wasn’t likely that the newborn would stir anytime soon.
Wandering, restless attention is sent to rotate; softening beyond the protective elder willow arch we’d taken sheltered beneath. Temples narrow, fixed upon the lonely bank-side post he'd chose for a night-time perch. Mini me raps a symbolic finger against one winged shoulder, ‘go to him,’ she urges, brims curling into a knowing grin. My head tilts rearward, angling to convince the voices of maternal concern that our precious bundle wouldn’t vanish. Jaws unhitch, sucking upon the tit of that cool, moist air for reassurance. Forefeet move with deft purpose; ignoring how the gossamer canopy attempts to hinder me with its scratchy foliage.
There are conversations burning on the tip of my tongue – laboring, groaning as they await their moment to be born. But first (a muffled nicker drifts clear should he have missed the unpleasant squish of toes) his warning of my arrival comes just before these alabaster lips seek the plush, firm warmth of his threaded, muscular flank. They tease and entice the skin beneath his splashed, gilden coat -- eager to lure a favorable response, “bonsoir monsieur,” hushed notes whisper with mock innocence, while these meaty nostrils spread to dine upon thick, pulsing vibrancy. Fibers melt gladly into steel; drinking his masculine, chiseled perfection.
A month or longer spent on foreign soil has passed by like an emotional whirlwind and the fangs of fatigue are sinking, swiftly, savagely, into the resolve of the tenacious-hearted eagle. For the third time in a span of mere seconds, blunt molars split apart and stiff jaws unhinge into a gaping, gasping, yawn. Though his heart yet throbs with conviction for the well-being of his young, vulnerable, precious family, easily his frayed mind - his consciousness - is beginning to unravel. Moments to reflect, to really pause and consider, are becoming few and far between, for the sweet swallow, the creation of their unshakable affection, grows quickly both in strength and character; her lively, lionhearted soul seems impossible to satisfy!
Drawing away into the north - shaking the supernatural shadows of that artificial fortress from their shoulders - the skirting timber of a lovely, shimmering lake has become the newest in an unfortunate string of provisional homesites. It is a much welcome reprieve, however, from the endless lay of barren, windy, grassed prairie (so too, from the icy, unpleasant crater in the mountains of Helovia), and Noah beholds it’s star-glittered surface with a fond, softening eye. Flared nares pull down into the depths of his lungs, a long taste of crisp, night air. The moon who has been steadfast company through this, the wildest of adventures, beams down with a pastel, pale ambience.
The scene is perfection.
Instability and preoccupation become the new normal.
Where the water laps silently at the muddy shoreline, the eagle stands vigil with his weary skull pointed distrustingly towards the south; he is yet to find confidence in these spring-washed, alien landscapes, though the vast distance now forced between predators and themselves, offers a little comfort to his aching heart. So too does loneliness plague him, for though their devotion to the little swallow is fierce and focused, he rather misses his lover's exclusive company; the attention that had been given always mutually and without any distraction. The level of his affection has not changed - neither too has the coveting glint in his eye, whenever it snags glimpse of that enticing, intricate frame - but the use of their time has skewed heavily to accommodate the nurture the newborn’s needs. Of course, the new father is glad, above all of the longing.
Beneath the extensive feather cloak, his barrel expands wistfully around a sigh.
Unexpected noise disturbs him, the pensive mood of introspection, and the peculiar squelch of light-weight steps moving down the slippery bank calls forth his restless attention. An eye turns rearward as she nickers, ears folding backwards against the tender warmth of that subtle, siren tone, but he remains in place all the same, there next to the lake. Before there is time enough to settle, a sudden flame ignites in his belly, calling forth a tide of heated hormone from glands strewn throughout his body; violent, rousing shivers ricochet up the length of his spine, prickling the golden canvas above so that the hairs stand eagerly on end. The eagle’s night-dimmed gaze rolls back giddily beneath the seclusion of shutting lids.
As those sultry, suggestive lips taunt, giant wings rise some, involuntarily, to grant better access.
“Good evening, sir…” she purrs almost gingerly, accent - that deliciously romantic, exotic tongue he finds so irresistible - reeling through his starving mind. “Madman,” he croons unnaturally back (oblivious to his mistake), with a distinctly ravenous undertone, all the while bowing that haughty, flaxen swamped crest to sink panting breath beneath upturned feather. Though her touch is intoxicating, sparking a vibrant sequence of fireworks along willing, shadow-thick skin, he can’t help but swivel around to find her; to meet pastel, pink and blue sisters and adore. Lips purse, moving slowly to gently brush against the soft, sleek hair upon her face - the sweet, womanly fragrance engulfs him - and loving kisses descend before he slips quietly from the tapering tip.
Invigorated and driven by swollen impulse, the winged stallion slides in close beside her so that she too might broil in the same tumultuous thirst; silent breath travels an exaggerated path along the way to the first ashen hoof, slithering deliberately across the bugle of shoulder, elbow, breast along the way. He is mammoth beside her, virile and powerful. With meticulous care considering, teeth rake the fine skirt of hair around the pastern before ascending, drawing a delicate trail along sinewy contours as he goes. By her girth, nostrils pause to pump the rising hue she wears, and blunt ivories invite stiff feather aside. It seemed that for now, any weariness was lost.
Famished, aroused nerves are trilling; they groan their delight and celebrate the fulfillment of previously ignored cravings. Sleep deprivation, preoccupation…I didn’t realize how desperately the soul could hunger for attention. For visceral nourishment. Rims stray, charting those unexplored tendons beneath the yielding curve of his colossal waist. Eager to rectify the circumstance which neglected to allow time for his tenderness…ambitious in the quest to ignite a blue fire and watch it smother behind his oceanic dormers.
Whiskers slide coyly along the top most portion of his muscular hind-leg, passion is insatiable for the sweltering meat his feathered arms relinquish. These patched forelimbs inch closer, prepped to melt the expansion of my breast into ripped, ironclad muscle – worshiping, adoring that moon-kissed perfection. ‘Madman.’ Unintentional, the corners of these lips ascend and whisper a smile, hovering above his crackling skin. Gracious amusement would’ve arose for his misstep, had it not become snared in the back of my throat… eyelids flutter, timid, certainly unworthy to bait divinity…though helplessly unable to stop. Every minuscule ounce, every fiber is majestic, the pinnacle of our species.
Mini me saunters onto the scene, jaws slack and panting as she wholly embraces the swelling, enticing mix of chemicals. She invokes the memory of our first night and boils it to the surface of my mind…that recollection of pleasure is fatal attraction…poisoning my logical side. Male bravo, his scent…briny and hot; intoxicating, driving fear, concern into the furthest corners until there was nothing but the vision of him, looming before me. Wings tilt, instinctually submitting to his whims, whatever his demands they’d grant unhindered access. “Noah,” his namesake invites, clings. My chin slants upward, curving toward heaven. A primal, soft noise lifts from the humid core...his deliberate affection summons a familiar quickening in my core. There was never a question to the emotions that stir me; the sensations of fondness and security. The realization of his importance dislodges itself and spouts it into tangibility, “je t'aime,” tenderly, the admission reaches out as I do, lowering to drive a sensitive path along his feathered shoulder and dip below the powerful arch – hugging the curve of his undercarriage.
A cool wind sweeps off the glinting, murky surface of the lake, fresh, quiet, and as it’s brittle whisper surrounds him, worry for all that they’d fled, feared, seems finally far away; or at least for now, moved from the forefront of his mind. The enticing flavour of womanly grace lingers in the air about him, a fog, thick, potent, present, so wicked that every breath taken inebriates him all the more. Senses yield willingly to the nurture of her sensual touch - ears, craving the soft feminine moan, eyes, rolling in the dainty, porcelain perfection that she has always embodied, lips, whiskers, ghosting further afield still as they stand wanting.
Stars above wink shyly…
The moon’s pasty cheek blushes the sultry crimson of anticipation as the blood vessels throughout him engorge. His own memory of their love, own lust, is ever present (has always been) - yearning - and his excitement is startlingly fast to snap up the bait she throws; masculinity is like a hungry child, restless, insatiable and wanting. Though already his stands like a giant beside her, the stallion’s virile, steaming impression seems to double - but there is softness nestled beneath the sheen of moonlit contours, tenderness and care.
Lips turn skyward and peel clear of the dull incisors beneath.
The nymph speaks, her voice so feathery against the thunderous throb of his pulse, that he is forced to swing eyes down and reassure the rise of intent. The thought quickly dissipates, his dove stands enticingly, submissively, taunting the willpower within him to bend, and yield he does (a slave to irresistibility and feminine manipulation). Pumping nares abandon that lean, brawny forehand for the treats laid out back; his lips travel coarsely, boldly, ravaging hot skin along the way like pirates through a treasured camp. Nora is glorious, a trove of new and wonderful delights, and he uncovers fresh maternal meat that had once been taut with the innocence.
The legacy of their sweet swallow’s lingered like proud battle wounds.
But time is brief, and though fascination tempts his interest, the pressure building drives him forward.
Teeth glide along the length of up-tilted quills, the beloved birth right shared between them, and now too gifted on to their child. There is a changed flavour about those steaming flanks when his nose aims a descent upon them -sweet, honeycomb - and unlike anything he can recall. He lingers in the inviting glow, the teeming desire fanning around it, with whiskers skimming that nearly naked skin.
I love you, she whispers through their darkness.
Blonde rims seal against the power in those words; they descend through him, warm his bones, stroke his soul, as though written by the verve of the very universe itself. He wonders, lingers - has she ever professed as much before?
“I love you more…” he returns easily, a low hum (though lucid), unable to rid that rising need from his throat.
Crest bows as his cheek slides back along the barred span of her rib cage. Velvety maw seeks the sinew lining the near upper pinion, and though peals flash and tease a nip thereon, a soft, pillowy kiss is placed in their stead. Loins surge with glee, mentality in their own right, and force his course back on track; hooves knife through the soft clay bank as he drifts along further ambiguously, ever nearer to that ultimate goal.
