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. |
