morozko
and all our footprints in the snow.
His smile sharpens at her reply, turning almost vulpine. “Mmm. Is that so?” If she doesn’t know why she’s flirting with him, he’s just as helpless to name a reason, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t enjoying it all the same. Enough of his life was filled with orders and reasons and regiments; here, in this moment, he was only a man.
A man in the presence of a most intriguing stranger, though they were working on that point.
Inkheart. He likes the name, the way she rolls it off her tongue, the imagery it implies. She glides nearer, a whisper of darkness beneath the shadow of the trees, and Morozko shifts his stance, opening his posture to her. The mares of the Winter Court were traditionalists; he often found himself the pursuer. But there is something agreeable about the way she advances on him, the almost predatory tilt to her finely-shaped head. It’s easy to forget they’re standing on a rare patch of dry ground in the midst of swamp, with the drone of insects all around. Easy to tune out even the trilling calls of birds in favor of the low-throated sound of her voice.
He doesn’t reach out to close the space between them, but he imagines he can feel her breath stir the lilac hairs of his coat. At her words he draws in a long breath and wonders if her heart is having as difficult a time as his keeping a steady rhythm. It feels illicit, this game they’re playing; perhaps the long shadows, the gnarled, reaching branches, the slow and murky water is a setting that suits them, after all.
Oh, but he would like to see her in all sorts of settings.
“I’d be happy to share what I know with you.” His voice comes out rough and low as she strokes so lightly along his spine, and it is chased by a shiver deeper than any he’d felt in the depths of winter. For a moment he closes his eyes, giving in to the feeling alone - and when he opens them it’s to turn toward her wing, heavy with the scent of her. At first he glides his muzzle along it, each soft breath stirring the downy feathers there; then, gently as a kiss, he closes his teeth on a feather and tugs. To touch her was to taste ambrosia; Morozko is suddenly greedy for more.
It is an effort, then, to withdraw - even if it’s just enough to face her again, meeting those golden eyes like a dare. “I’m sure there are plenty more things you could show me. I’m new to Novus…but I’m a very fast learner.” And there were far more interesting things than turtles to acquaint himself with.
@Inkheart idk but I am highly amused
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