April 10

[captainryan]

April has come and with it the warm weather. Werewolves, for the next six months at least, do not find it quite so miserable to be outdoors for three days in a row.  The level of easy prey is beginning to rise as well, as the animals of the forest begin their reproductive cycles anew. A good time to be a predator.

It’s the last night of the full moon. The right edge has begun to wane ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but its light is still bright over the hills and valleys of Milliways' Scottish simulation. The light is less illuminating under the trees, but still enough to pick out a path without too great a difficulty, provided there’s a path to follow.

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[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He's panting a bit himself but manages a questioning whurfle regardless, both ears flicking back to her. He slows down a bit, thinking perhaps he is going too fast.

He's never run with a human before. It's a new experience for him.

[hell_in_highheels]

She pushes herself to run parallel to him, timing the motion of his body carefully to land a brushing bump as she runs, laughing again. She pulls ahead of him a little, trusting to the path for a few steps to look back over her shoulder at him, her lips pressed tight over her teeth even as she grins. (She knows primate expressions and canine expressions are not analogous.)

He looks so comfortable in this form. Almost... happy.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He is happy. She's here, isn't she?

He exclaims playfully as she bumps him, then is content to lope behind her for a bit. As soon as the path widens again, though, he's running next to her, easily keeping pace. He's quite relaxed, tongue lolling in a canine smile.

Damocles keeps behind both of them, smiling too.

[hell_in_highheels]

She turns back to face up the path, glad for her well worn boots and the chance just to be here with him. She keeps one hand pressed over the belt bag, keeping the Holtzmann shield from jostling too much.

She thinks they're getting close, and it's a good thing, because her lungs are starting to burn.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

They are. Familiar trees and a dark shadow come into view. What moonlight flits through the trees reveals the off-white pile to one side and the dark spot where their fire was a mere week ago. (He had so many interesting scents to investigate!)

There is some new decoration, however, in the half a deer haunch and flank to one side.

The werewolf trots around the perimeter, investigating, before loping back to her for a shoulder bump.

[hell_in_highheels]

"Oof. Do you understand words?" Words?

She stands in the place where their blanket was laid out in the sun, not knowing if she should approach the den. Her eyes flit over the deer and back to him. She wants to communicate with him, but she's afraid she's not equal to the task.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

There she goes making sounds again. He tilts his head at her in classic canine curiosity.

What about words?

[hell_in_highheels]

Okay, she thinks, mentally cracking her knuckles. Conversational canine, final exam. She goes slowly, carefully, wanting both to not offend and to please him. She leans against him, testing the limits of her knowledge.

My words. Few. Also, sometimes wrong. I speak slow. Try not to insult/offend/break rank. Wolf words hard for me.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

I know that. He gives her an amused whurfle. No one talks to me that way. You're doing well, for a human.

The top of her head gets nuzzled.

[hell_in_highheels]

She grins, laughs a little under her breath. So the arrogant bastard part translates intact. It's rather a relief to her, to know her Richard is in there.

You are new. For me. Touch you? No toes.

She holds up her hands again, fingers splayed, palms exposed.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He head tilts at her again.

Toes? Claws? He lifts his hand to compare again. You can touch. He'd like it if she did.

[hell_in_highheels]

Claws, she corrects herself.

Okay, time to just shut up. She can tell her accent is atrocious.

Tentatively, she reaches up to touch his forearm. Her hand is shaking just a bit. Her other hand comes up to touch his chest, fingers exploring. There is that bright ribbon of curiosity in her scent.

The rational part of her mind is cataloguing the anatomical structures, the extended chest cavity, larger heart and lungs to fuel the massive muscles.

And then there is her heart, feeling her way through the fear. His massive muzzle comes down beside her face and she finds herself reaching up to nuzzle his chin, knowing what it is she's doing.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

There are scars on his chest even in this form, though they're hard to see against his already dark hide. All of him is firm, hard muscle, warm with heat.

Carefully he fulfils his side of the act, gently taking her nose between his teeth. The pressure from the points is light, his breath meaty and warm.

Then he's washing her face again.

[hell_in_highheels]

Her heart is pounding and she's grinning, joy and fear mingling to make her light headed.

Her hands come up to pet his muzzle, stroking his impossibly large head. Telling herself there is nothing to be afraid of here.

My mate. Why taste me?

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He ducks down a bit so she can reach his ears. Suzi scritched his ears once. That was awesome.

Trying to clean off the fear scent. What's scaring you?

[hell_in_highheels]

Her fingers are still exploring and she leans in to nuzzle his cheek fur. He's soft beneath her fingertips, and she strokes out to the tips of his ears, knowing how sensitive they are.

You're beautiful. Your teeth, make me dream/memory, big... Gah, she doesn't know the word for dinosaur in canine. Remember my first death?

She pulls back just a bit to make a puppet of her hand, holding it up to her face and making little play growls, and then meeping quietly as her hand attacks her head.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

...head tilt?

You're not dead. He's very firm about that, though he doesn't show his teeth for emphasis. She just said that was what was scaring her.

Wouldn't bite you, he adds, half hurt, half reproachfully.

[hell_in_highheels]

I know, love. I know.

She touches him again, stroking his muzzle, leaning against him.

I'm safe. With you.

She's not scared anymore.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Yes. He pushes his weight back against her, letting her know he's there.

Are you hungry? They still have plenty of deer left.

[hell_in_highheels]

She tried to stay awake, she tried valiantly, but the hike and the fear took the starch right out of her. He'd seen her eyelids falling and her head bobbing, and had brought her into the den, curling around her for warmth. She'd fallen asleep listening to his heart beat in his chest, his muzzle curled around her head. Warm as sleeping in their own bed.

She'll be so disappointed she missed his transition back to human.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Not much to see, really, just a lot of digging his claws into the wood to keep from crying out as things shrink and tuck themselves back into place. It hurts just as much to change back as it does changing to.

He pants silently for a moment, ready to roll over and go back to sleep as usual. Only there's a scent he completely isn't expecting.

"River?!"

[hell_in_highheels]

She starts awake at the sound of his voice in her ear, blinking as she tries to orient herself. She responds in canine, reflexively. Here, love. Safe. Her hand reaches for him.

There's a speck of dried blood on her cheek and more on her fingers.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Ryan stares, sniffing sharply. Pleasepleaseplease tell him that's not hers. He will NEVER forg-

Oh thank god. It's just deer.

What the HELL are you doing out here?

The moon's just set. Canine is rather easier to manage just now.

[hell_in_highheels]

Safe. Safe. She repeats, still half asleep. She sits up on one elbow and haphazardly makes sure he's covered with the blankets. Had a dream. Never leave you.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, trying to remember last night. Bits and pieces come to him in black and white, a hunt, playing with Damocles, the three of them trotting down a trail...

Nothing that shows he hurt her at all. Nothing he remembers, anyway.

River. He muffles his anxious growl behind gritted teeth, willing her to wake up the rest of the way. Why are you here? Are you okay?

Did he hurt you?