.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
09-26-2015, 09:20 PM
As he watches her, she appears nearly repulsed by his words. She did not think of herself as or ‘better’ or even ‘good’. This was obvious to the stallion. Obvious before she began speaking of using her body to sleep with infantry in order to keep herself safe. Keep herself alive. Tembovu knew soldiers had needs. He knew it, had seen it in his own troops. He had been fine with it, as long as his warriors had not forced themselves on the mares. Most were willing participants anyhow. Who doesn’t love a soldier? But there was something about this that send waves of tingling repulsion down his spine. He was not repulsed by Rexanna (though the idea of her being mounted by others did enrage him slightly). He was repulsed at himself. For he had been on the other end of her story. He had been the stallion who slept with a mare to get information, get her to divulge secrets. At the time, it had been a means to an end. His vengeance had been driving his body, dictating his actions. There was nothing but cold empty loss in him. Only now was he seeing the result of his actions. Of any stallion’s actions who used a mare so easily. ‘I am nothing.’ His jaw clenches and a muscle ticks as she speaks so lowly, so deprecatingly about herself. He opens his mouth to speak, but bites back his words as a torrent of uncertainty and apology leave her mouth. Does he want it back? “No.” The word is out of his mouth before he can chase any other thoughts that are swirling in his mental tangle. It is the only clear, concise thought he has, “I want you to keep it,” his words are deep, almost angry and hurt at the thought of her giving the chain back to him. He shifts, wanting to rein in this vast amount of emotion. He had never felt such a breadth of fire before. His had always been a easy burn with Mara and a cold burn of revenge. This was something new, entirely. “Firstly, Rexanna, do not speak of yourself as ‘nothing.’ I have lost almost everything I value in this life. So do not— do not ever— refer to yourself as nothing. Because you are something— something I value so greatly. Do not insult me by calling that worthless,” his words a deep and firm, anger putting a timber in his tone. “And that you both realize and regret treating me as you have. In a way- I might add- that has kept you alive this long,” his voice grows quiet at the thought, for he isn’t sure how to balance the anger at the stallions who have used her with the relief that using her in that way has kept her alive, “It shows that you are absolutely not them.” He grows quiet for a while. His black tail swishing at his thick hocks in thought. The burn of his withers has begun to sink in, as has the pale sting of new flesh that covered his back and haunches. The adrenaline, the threatening depression, and fear of loss. They all have wrenched the elephant raw. He feels the needed, the longing, for soothing and reassurance. The touch of a woman— of Rexanna. So he takes his steps back to his golden princess. Newly adorned with a golden veil that she could hide her demons behind. But he knew her now, knew what was behind the mask he gave her. Leaning his massive weight into her, he runs his giant head against her neck, her side. Seeking comfort and the smoothness of her silken skin against his burned hide. Deeply, he breathes in her scent. It is a balm and aphrodisiac, “Hmm, my princess,” his murmur is a low rumble against her side. A mumbled appreciation for all that is Rexanna. |
- table by Niki -
@Rexanna
Please tag Tembovu.
