[P] *now or never; [tw]

[Tarquin]

There's a haunted quiet to his expression as he gazes out at the expanse of mountain region and what it might signify. Enclosure. A shudder slithers down his skin, and he peers out into the darkness behind him. He's being hunted, but that part thrills him. The idea is dark and delicious; this game that they play. The absence of feline forms doesn't get to pry that pleasure from them, and it hasn't. Quinn was very aware that he doesn't have long left until he's found, because he could feel the nearness of the hunter, and the looming mountain range that would prevent speed being on his side. The air would be thin as he climbed as well, and there was no magic to protect him from that anymore. All the magic and abilities had been leeched away, and it left him feeling all too brittle. He hated that part of it, but he would survive. He always seemed to take what he got and endured it. His only salvation was the hunter that would arrive at any moment. Quinn heard the distant hoofbeats on the more rocky and dirt packed terrain, ears folding back not due to aggression or stress, but for the fact that it felt that this hunt had been cut abnormally short. A span of only a few days, and here they were. Quinn also knew that this was the borders of some herd territory; he could smell it. Smell the mingled scents of bodies that roamed here and there. Days without running into herdlands, and that had ended adruptly, the same way that this hunt was ending. He doesn't look back at the sound of approach, simply staring ahead at the mountains, contemplating, waiting it out. And there had been other things that had clouded his mind while he had run along, leading the chase away from the lands before here. Names. More specifically, the leaden weight of a question regarding one name that Quinn had been dancing around for awhile now. It had come to the point where the question had festered for far too long. The seconds ticked by -- tick, tick -- and he counted the steps behind him. He was caught. A coy, inviting smile curled at his lips as he turns to lock eyes with his hunter. "Vhetiveer—," The Irish lilt twisted elegantly over the name before he reminded himself of his question at the tip of his tongue; his inquiry, "Choke." Bluntly, but lovingly all the same. There's hesitancy in his expression, and he proceeds carefully, "We've never talked about it, if you'd like me to use that name— or not." He reached his nose out to where Vhetiveer was; imploring with the gesture. Quinn's stumbling over what to say next, because he isn't sure if it's a touchy subject or not. They had both stayed away from it so far, but it had been grating at the edges of his mind because he wanted to know. Vhetiveer had been the name given when they had met, and so regardless of the fact that he had known of the other name -- Choke -- he hadn't spoken it aloud yet. Until now. I'M READY TO BLEED TO MAKE AMENDS *tarquin

image credits: yokamycelium

@Vhetiveer