Huyana; the single indelible word, unmistakable through the din of raindrops, hanging in the sunlit air between them like the sins of an entire population. Breath caught in her throat, trapped between her lungs, and she was frozen, a single ear flicking towards him. He who brought death to all he touched; he who could bring an empire to its knees; the single man who could possibly bring the proud and defiant Huyana to her own knees. She turned to him almost timidly, wet tendrils of mane falling across her face as she watched him from beneath wet lashes. The Reaper was even more beautiful than memory, every detail of his face chiseled with masterful skill—he was a Michelangelo, sculpted with indelible allure. Had he been watching her, a voyeur to her whims and infinite joy, as she had gamboled through her element, through the sunlight, through the late spring air? Intrigued, she contemplated him through the rain, ears swiveling backward as she noticed the sparkling gem by his brow, eyes widening a fraction as she studied its facets, its glistening face. She tilted her head, wet forelock falling across her eyes, uncomprehending at first. The general breathed—were her eyes unused to the light, or did the jewel seem to glow oddly? Uncomprehendingly, she took a daring step forward, lips held slack as she contemplated this gesture.

His eyes answered her question before she could even open her mouth—they watched her with uncanny ferocity—but it was not the ferocity of death, it did not herald violence; but rather a different sort of ferocity, tender and fierce, a look which told her so many things and absolutely nothing at all. The raindancer took a daring step forward, her stomach tightening; she was looking into the lion's mouth, flourishing her red cloth before the bull—was this what she wanted? To ravish, to be ravished? Yes, her eyes said, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in a way that was not entirely innocent. She tilted her head downward, watching him and his gleaming stone through the lashes clumped with raindrops. Let me have you, he said, sounding more vulnerable and hungry and beautiful than she had ever heard anyone be. Huyana did not blink or flinch, did not cry out nor breathe; she just considered him and all his possibilities. He was Deimos the Reaper, whose touch could bring death, and in four words he became the most unguarded creature she had seen. She had the possibility to become cruel, to refuse this query, to leave him naked in this driving rain, to right all the wrongs his kind brought; but she found herself unable to, a warmth spreading in her chest even as she felt numb.

In a single gesture, the general relinquished the gem to her feet. She could not help the smile that spread across her lips, nor could she control herself as she reached down to take the treasure before her, letting it slide down her slippery horn. It was heavy—in this stone was all the walls Deimos had built, the entirety of his being—it was his persona, his birthright, and this creature of rain found herself bearing it like a cross; but it was not something that would damn her, and it was certainly not something she bore unwillingly. Wordlessly, the mare moved forward until their skins touched—he was as wet as she, defenseless and liable and as mortal as the rest of them. He was no untouchable idol, not a god of death. Today he would bring no destruction or break down city walls—he would not take or steal or violate. She ran her lips down his spine, continuing over the creases of his muscles, marveling over their strength. The tip of her tail stroked his broad chest lightly, with both gentleness and clout. "Reaper," she murmured into his skin, wondering if the word would sink into every pore of his. Huyana let her face rest on his hip, feeling his unguarded warmth. She thought to all the violence and hate and blood she had witnessed in all her days and decided she had enough of it: it was time to prove the world (and herself) wrong. If he was ready to relinquish control and lay himself bare before her, she would too, and gladly. If he took life and fought in wars, he could be gentle too. They wouldn't right all the wrongs of the world, but they could ease the pain of living, at least for a while.

Her lips parted, and she dragged her teeth across the point of his hip, tasting the sweetness of rain and the muskiness of his scent. Suddenly, everything seemed inconsequential and silly—all her worries and problems were so frivolous and nonsensical; she felt so giddy she almost laughed. Smiling, Huyana turned and let her lips dance across his ears. "Take me then," she growled playfully, before laughing quietly and ducking beneath the crook of his neck, tail trailing lightly under his belly.