He sees through skyward eyes—a female approaches.

Ka’Mate, go hunt, he commands in his mind, grey sparks and fire sputtering through the mental link he shares with the furious creature. He feels heavy wings take flight, cutting through the denseness of the trees—banished for now, free to satiate the sadist appetite that drives the great raptor. Ka’Ora, keep watch. She harkens to her master’s law; she huddles on the bough far above the wandering, frightful fey. Dark eyes scan and watch as the female ambles about, confused and fearful, with those eyes so full of mercy, melancholy. He does not know where she learned such things.

He sees through her tender eyes how close the female wanders—how her gait is uncertain, how her legs are spun like glass. Such a small creature, for her age. The scent is caught by his bonded, and passed into his mind—she is woman.

The cold grips him—though not how it used to. As a child, it would subdue him, claw at him, tear his breath from his lungs and leave him a useless, meandering heap of flesh—mediocre and humiliated, a waste of child. He has survived, though; he stands tall and powerful, body brimming with the pounding of his blood, the raging of his manhood and the eagerness of a serpentine bloodlust. It curdles inside of him, distasteful of the cold—for a beast of cold skin is repulsed by snow and cutting winds. Regardless of his thick hide, he finds that he is similarly repelled by these northern lands, and he finds himself craving the sands of the south, the burning winds of a Tallsun afternoon and how they would beat down upon him pleasantly…

…no matter. The seasons will change—the sun will return. He must only hold himself until that day arrives and the breeze blows hotly once again…

*"Is anybody there...?"*

…and he supposes he must find other means of warmth.
Ka’Mate is gone—his mind is safe from the blind fury of his bond-mate. His voice is smooth as it leaves him, tongue trained from an early age to be mild, controlled: “Here.” He calls to her from where he stands at the shores of the blood pool—frozen over thickly, so that the stones beneath are hidden from the winter sun’s glare. “I am here, if you are seeking company...”


@[Anzanie]

”Watch for Circe.”