Drooping Willows Let me be the salt in your wounds

Afternoon, light snow. AW but let Malien post first please! <3

Seeking shelter from the snow flurries descending in the air, Rye hurried underneath the willow tree boughs. She shook out her fur once safely under cover, sending a light spray of snow around her. Her breath came out as white puffs in front of her, but she paid no mind to the cold. The snow however? It kinda sucked.

Yellow eyes looked around, intrigued by the low sweeping branches, briefly contemplating if she should rest here or continue further. A quick sniff of the air had her ears pricking forward, head cocking to the side, mind immediately made up on the latter option.

There was a pack border nearby... but it smelled stale. Old. As if it hadn't been refreshed in a little while. Lips pulling back in a devilish grin Rye trotted forth, tail waving high behind her. After all, a pack was not worth worrying about if they didn't tend to their borders.

She could have some fun with this.

Rye stopped just shy of said border. Well, could it really be considered a border anymore? Humming softly to herself she stepped one paw over it, then another, and finally hopped right over it, letting out a delighted giggle as she did so. There was no one to stop her, so why couldn't she have some fun?

Things don't go according to plan, do they?

(But you're not sure you've ever had a plan: you're a snowflake, tumbleweed, blown across the horizon on restless paws, following whatever capricious urges you have. You arrive, you mess around, and when you're either bored or the consequences loom too tall you disappear again. You have no destination, no grand master plan.)

And then.. then...

You try not to think about that too much. You're not sure what it is, how to feel about it, but it sits like sharp glass in your heart - a bitter, lonesome taste in your mouth.

---

He's not sure why he sticks around. She's gone, and she didn't take him with her. And the rest of the pack, they're gone too, some lingering like ghosts, but the cohesion is gone. The safety is gone. The borders are gone. They're scattered, and Malien sure as shit isn't going to bust his ass to fix something that was never his in the first place.

But still he sticks around. Cold as the winter, painted entirely in grays and silvery blues aside from those eyes. He should give up, move on, maybe go back to the other side of the mountains and harass Woya some. Maybe that would make him feel like himself again, get his blood pumping, this lethargic chill out of his veins.

Does he, though?

Nah. He's still there. Wandering. Haunting. A specter in the snow. He chuffs to himself, drifts along between the sagging boughs and falling snow. In the distance, a tawny shape dances across the old border, too large to be a fox or coyote but kind of moving like one. Malien isn't interested; his course is set to take him straight past, and like a battlecruiser he just keeps going, set on his path and with no acknowledgment of her presence.

As interesting as purposefully disregarding the rules of a pack border, even if it was no longer being maintained, Rye grew bored of it quickly. There was no sense of prolonged enjoyment without the risk of a pack wolf coming along, getting mad and starting something she would absolutely finish.

A nearby chuff had her head swiveling around, yellow eyes barely picking out a large silvery form that seemed headed towards her, and for a moment Rye grinned, fur bristling as she expected him to snap at her and tell her to bugger off. But he paid her no attention, and she could see he would be trekking right past her.

As if she didn't exist.

She watched unblinking as he went past, only her head turning to follow his movement. It was only when he was fully past her that she called out to his retreating behind. "What, no hello or anything?" Rye bounded forward after him, eyes glittering with curiosity. It was unusual for her to just be ignored, and she wanted to know if she could provoke this composed wolf into reacting to her.

Her bounding ended in a slide through the snow as she came to a sharp halt right before running into him, spraying up flurries into the air and raining down upon the both of them. Another giggle escaped her maw as she took a couple steps back, front end lowering in a play bow and tail swishing swiftly behind her in the air.

Completely ignoring someone was a bit of a thrill, honestly, but in the context of his melancholia it was .. weak. Just a vague twang somewhere in his nervous system, before that heavy, depressed rug fell back down over his soul and he stopped giving a shit again. So fucking what. Y'know. That kinda thing.

She calls out after him - they hadn't collided, and he is kind of surprised she let him get that far before acknowledging him. Malien doesn't even pause in his stride. "I'm not here for you," he says bluntly without even turning his head.

I'm here for the endless repeat of paws lifting and pressing into snow--
I'm here to walk until my heart is too tired--

I don't like this.

It's not who he is. It's not who he's ever been. Snow showers onto his legs and back, the giggling coyote-in-a-huge-wolf's-body .. doing what? Malien is torn between humoring her and destroying her, but it actually gets him to stop. His golden eyes turn onto her, somewhat of a frown creasing his silver forehead.

Go away. I'm moping.

OR - and hear me out, you idiot - or you take this as an opportunity, make a choice, bury your heart here in the cold willows and get the fuck on with your life.

Okay? Okay.

Sure. Whatever. You've been abandoned. Get over it.

It's rather sudden: a yip and a sneeze as he bounds forward, tail wagging, trying to crash into her and knock her over into the snow.

(This post was last modified: Dec 31, 2022, 08:23 AM by Malien.)

The monochrome wolf freezes, long enough that she wondered if he would simply keep forward without acknowledging her again. He turns to silently look at her, a frown evident on his face. Was he mad? Oh she hoped. He was silent and still for so long she was starting to get bored, her tail beginning to slow its motion behind her. But then - success.

He makes a noise and suddenly rushes towards her, but she could tell it was a playful act rather than aggressive. A high-pitched but delighted squeal escapes her as she skitters backwards to try and dodge out of the way. But she was too slow.

His form was lighter than hers but he had the advantage of momentum on his side. A shoulder crashed into hers, knocking her off balance. Rye teetered on her two left legs for a moment, before gravity got the best of her and she toppled onto her side. She could have softened the landing, but the powdery snow was soft enough and she let herself fall flat onto her side.

Rye rolled over onto her back, staring up at the now upside down form of the monochrome wolf, jaws opened wide in a wolfish grin. A feeling of playfulness surged within her as she giggled up at him. She reached a forepaw up to swat helplessly at his form, knowing very well that he was out of reach, but not actually trying to hit him.

"I thought ya said ya weren't here for me, huh?" Rye said teasingly, sticking her tongue out at him, wondering if he had any other buttons she could push for something fun to happen.

(This post was last modified: Jan 21, 2023, 10:10 AM by Ryenne.)

Smack--

There's not much warmth to be felt aside from the rush of blood to the point of impact, too much insulating fur between their skins. Nerves are pinched between planes of bone, a wake-up call as good as any. The other wolf flops into the snow, no doubt partially on purpose, but he can't fault her.

She's looking for fun, not to fight to the death. (Right?)

Though he does feel more awake his brief rush of gaiety is gone again. He just watches her with a detached sort of curiosity as she waves her paw at him; bares his teeth (no growls, no stiffness) to snap a little at it. G o d this.. heavy, dreary mood. You gotta try again. Try harder. Look. At. Her. Close the eyes open in your mind and open the ones in the present.

He likes her on her back. Kicks a bit of that cheerfulness back into life. "Psh," he snorts, stepping forward to try and stand over her, one paw on each side of her chest, ready to defend himself from teeth and paws with his mouth. "I changed my mind, sweet."

His disinterested appearance didn't affect Rye all that much, her own playful mood not letting his dourness sour the interaction. She was having fun and that was all she cared about; as long as he had his attention on her she didn't particularly care what he did. Even if he turned teeth to skin she'd have just as much fun.

She watches from her upside down view as he bares his own teeth, though it was neither a snarl nor a grin. This wolf was an odd one for sure, she she still didn't know what to make of him, though he was somewhat alluring. A mysterious wolf was always an interesting wolf in her opinion.

Rye doesn't move as he steps over her, his paws standing firmly on either side of her chest to fully trap her beneath him. A soft croon leaves her maw at his words, her eyelashes fluttering up at him. "Aww darl, you think I'm sweet?" While she was not one to usually make eyes at and seduce another, she was not completely averse to the idea of a bit of fun, especially if it was at the expense of some poor young sod. Although this one seemed to at least have some sort of intelligence behind his golden eyes.

But sweet? She was anything but, and to prove it she struck as fast as a viper. Her head whipped around on the snow to bend towards her chest, teeth flashing as she sought to nip with her front teeth on his left foreleg, hard enough to draw a few drops of blood if he didn't move his leg away fast enough. There were no thoughts in her brain about the consequences of her actions.

(This post was last modified: Jan 27, 2023, 09:46 AM by Ryenne.)

He's actually a little surprised that she just .. lets him. He had expected some attempt to get away, maybe snaps and snarls to warn him off, not just.. letting him stand over her like that. But there she is, on her back in the snow, gazing seductively up at him. Huh.

"Sweet as sugar," he purrs in response, though there's something there - in the glint of his golden eyes, the edge of his teeth, the sharp angle of his budding smirk that gives the game away: Malien is not a pleasant man. But come to think of it...

Is she a pleasant wolf? (It's not like he'll do anything to her) Does she deserve wickedness? Has she done anything except invite play and some banter? Maybe he's misjudging. Maybe she's not.. mean.

Maybe she's biting your leg--

Well. That's kinda rude, isn't it? A different Malien might've just borne it with stoicism and pointed that out, but this is not a different Malien. This is the Malien that will not suffer such disrespect. As her teeth nip his skin, crushing the fine blood vessels between them, his own head descend in an attempt to grab her across the muzzle - not hard enough to break her face, just hard enough to be unpleasant, to get her to let go.

He might have thought she was sugar, but in reality she was salt: identical in appearance but with the complete opposite taste. She was like rain on a sunny day that drove everyone to seek shelter, or a speck of sand that lodged into an eye on a windy day.

Her teeth found skin, a metallic taste blossoming on her tongue as she dug her front teeth in. She wasn't intending to maim per say, just show him that she wasn't as naïve and demure as all the other girls out there. This time his reaction was far swifter, though no less force than when he had bowled her over.

A soft hiss slipped from between her teeth, yet she had no intention of letting go now. Initially she had just wanted to strike quickly before letting go, but now this was a battle of wills. Was she in a more dangerous position by being beneath him? Absolutely, but she didn't care. This was fun.

A stubborn streak flowed through her, less about pride and more wanting to see just what he would do, and she continued her hold on his leg, even going as far as to increase the pressure. Only by a bit, just hard enough to draw a few more drops of blood. A soft growl rumbled in her throat even as her tail wagged speedily in the snow by her hind legs, betraying just how much fun she was having at that moment.

(This post was last modified: Jan 27, 2023, 09:47 AM by Ryenne.)

That's, uh-

That's not what he wants. She makes some very unpleasant noises through her teeth (and his leg), her hot breath rushing onto the shocked skin as his own teeth press against the delicate structures of her muzzle. Pressure points. He can feel a wetness he knows is not just her saliva: blood, flecking her teeth. His blood.

And she matches him. Pressure, more pressure, and honestly they're both damned: whoever gets something broken is dead. Her face, his leg- it's a chicken race and it's not going to end well.

It's also a weird safeguard, a form of mutually assured destruction.

He tries to take some comfort in that.

Malien's jaw clenches tighter, a snarl to match hers escaping, but where her tail is whipping manically (what's wrong with this girl?) his is ramrod stiff. Malien does not think this is very fun.