The idle jokes and chatter that would consistently bubble from her mouth in the means of a protective shield went to the wayside. In that moment, knowing that the ebony wolf was keen on remaining with her – the first sense she would gain of a companion since as long as she could remember now – allowed her to open up to him more so, and while Deacon didn’t seem to be one for small gestures of friendliness, such as a cheek nip or other, he did not pull away from her now.
Instead, the large wolf preened at her neck, eliciting a gentle shiver along the Baranski’s spine as she gave a soft hum in response. Had she been a cat, she could have purred, and as his eyes looked to her with questioning, a flicker of the old Lekalta – the more brazen, flirty girl crept forward, and she tipped her muzzle to the side, rumbling softly to him before she stood.
Her tails swayed in the air behind her, and she nipped at his shoulder then – coaxing him in a way that was instinctual. As such, she would take that moment to take a brisk pounce at him, stopping short before colliding with him before whirling, her honeyed form beginning to race along the snow kissed ground of the orchard – inviting him to catch her. Once he did, the final shield of her protection would be cast aside for the swarthy wolf – with no place among a pack, she would not deny what nature intended any longer. They could figure out the details of it all later.
are you deranged like me? are you strange like me?
lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?