Nephele had been restless that morning, pacing the throat like a coiled spring, an amazonian without a hunt, an artist without a brush. Admittably, she had coiled into herself with the passing absence of coordination in the ranks, deciding that it was better to patrol and take care of the home front while the ebb and flow returned to the sands.

She was never meant to stay still in one place for so long, whether it was home or a place she had chosen to make her bed in. She was fire after all, she changed on the turn of the wind. From crackling pyre to blazing inferno, and then back to the embers once more. Dual toned eyes were fixated on the mainland as she cantered along the beach, curvaceous muscles flexing with each powerful step which drove her forward. Wings expanded to carry her toward where ever her sails would take her, leaping into the invisible highway of freedom.


It took her deep into the flats, it turned out. At the best of times, they were unforgiving to the most hardened of souls, but this tallsun they appeared to be particularly unforgiving. The lack of chill within the air which tousled her long locks and caressed her obsidian hide was an annoyance the warrioress could do without. What she wouldn't give for a northern breeze to sweep forward again and chase away the tallsun's rule for something far more temperate, or a worthy distraction to take her mind off of the sweat beginning to form on her thick neck.

Luckily, either by the Gods own design, or a spell of often absent luck, the distraction came when she spotted the all too familiar figure of Gaucho, his burning wings, and darkened dun pelt a giveaway among the mirrored waters and white sand backdrop.

Didn't they often patrol in pairs or three's? A furrow crossed her chiselled brow at her own question, curiosity beginning to blossom in her chest. All it took was a quick flick of her wings and an elegant angle of her body to send her gliding for the ground in a streak of black and orange. She landed with an audible thump and splash of water a short distance away from her Sultan. Wings folded neatly against her sides with one last stretch as she covered the space between them.


"Hail Gaucho." The greeting polite, head lowered in a subtle bow. "Need a hand in patrolling?" If he was patrolling, which she assumed so. If not, then well, perhaps he could use the company? He had saved her from being kidnapped once, perhaps her company could in someway begin the process of returning the favor. A paltry offering considering what he had done for her, but there was little chance that Gaucho would become a damsel in distress anytime soon.

talk talk talk

Nephele

Love,
 my territory of kisses and volcanoes

He turned to her but no words came out, at least not yet, and the amazonian mare gave pause in her mind, even though her steps did not. Reaching his side, her weight shifted and her hind leg came to prop out to the side at a relaxed angle, as though it'd been her hooves that had done all the work to get her here in the first place. If her wings had a mind of their own, they might've batted at the ungrateful limbs for feigning tiredness where there was none.

When he finally spoke, it was her name, spoken like a question rather than a warm greeting given between warriors, friends and herdmates. While she did not question it outloud, her skull tilted once more to confirm that she was who he said.


Nothing could of quite prepared her for his next comment, candid and was that a note of awe worked into those primal chords? The heat which assaulted her face for a moment wasn't thanks to the tallsun's relentless crusade, but rather the flush of a mare who had been caught off guard. She wasn't one often on the receiving end of compliments, whether they were meant as such, or simply a comment on her appearance. Her hide was pitch, forged in obsidian, not gold nor of spun shimmering silver that delicate maidens with pretty bejeweled eyes were often blessed with. Marked with warpaint that signified that she had earned her stripes, the webbing of scars upon her flanks and neck further attesting to her rites. Her hair often coiled in curls and tangles, beaded with feathers and other trinkets, carelessly left to their own devices to stream in the wind as they pleased.

There was a sort of unrefined beauty to her, beneath the layers, but no one had ever really stopped to really look or say.

Realizing that she had lapsed into silence, and no doubt outed the fact she was reacting like some naive filly. A cough was nervously shed from her throat, one that outed that she had momentarily stumbled on his compliment. She pressed somewhat forward in her thoughts. She was painfully aware of the happenings of the throat, such was the nature of gossiping mares and foals which didn't know when to close their nosy little ears. Ampere had left a mare sized hole in Gaucho's life, and effortlessly a white dove had flown in briefly, she had gone in a cascade of rose petals and white feathers. One could say that Gaucho was an eligible bachelor once more, an experienced bachelor who could make the most confident of mares weak at the knee's and doe eyed.

"One could say that you're not so far from a dream yourself, handsome." It's played off as a light retort, flirtatious banter to press on from her reeling.

The handsome grin did little to keep her thoughts drifting, the older part of herself berating her younger, more innocent self beneath the warrior layers. She was not some filly with googly eyes, but she was neither a mare who had weathered affections, birthed foals and fell in love.
Nothing needed to be said in response to Gaucho accepting her help, she adjusted herself once more to follow alongside him as he moved across the mirrored plains. Invisible Crocodiles?  Her pace faltered for a second before it recovered, breaking her effortless but precise pace, and she couldn't help but shoot the dun stallion a questioning look. "Invisible Crocodiles? There are more that invaded the flats?" She had been away at that time, but she had saw the devastation the rift god had brought to her friends, especially the iced white filly that hobbled instead of floated. Heard it in the hushed tones of their herdmates when the fires burned in the midnight landscape.



talk talk talk

Nephele

Love,
 my territory of kisses and volcanoes

There's admiration which flows from the obsidian pelted mare, how could it not? Gaucho was the pinnacle, the upper echeleon that every aspiring warrior thirsted for. His position was the hope in their eyes when they awoke in the morning, the sweat which pooled and slicked their necks when they clashed with one another, the grit in their voice in the heat of battle. To wear the crown of the ascended was a momentous achievement, to call the fires of the sun with just a thought a most coveted power indeed. From a warrior's standpoint, she understands, she also wishes to stand upon the rocky mountains with nothing but the sweat of her own brow and martial prowess.

But, there's another kind of admiration laced in there, carefully threaded into the barbarian tapestry which drew the alluring gaze of wanting mare's everywhere. Her dual toned eyes frequently finding themselves drawn to the hardened muscle that walks beside her, leads her to where they must go. Her mind wonders over each scar that gold and blue find, questions formulating in her mind as to which ones were earned where, and how. They pay the most intimate attention to every defining feature which separates Gaucho out from the rest of the stallion's which litter the throat, and lurk in the herdlands beyond their island oasis. He is primal, handsome and strong. Hard lines of his face telling stories of his ascent and descent from good times and bad, rugged with handsomeness not hindered by his experience walking the earth. The more reasonable part of her chides her lavishing silent attention on her Sultan, he is her superior, and had been once upon a time Ampere's mate.

However, the larger part of her now coming to the forefront gives a hefty, mental shrug with her supple shoulders. He is eligible by all purpose, and she see's the way he glances over her curves and own war marked pelt. Who wouldn't want to fall into an all too easy moment swept with flirtation and stolen glances that were not all that innocent?

His muzzle finds itself in whiskers distance from her own pierced one, her nostrils giving a small flare of surprise at just how close. She can feel his breath on the velvet of her muzzle, how it rolls over the bone piercing which decorates his own. There's a subtle shiver which ripples her muscles, gone as quickly as it had flared up in the mare. She see's the reason in his words, weren't they all not too sure if the threat had been stopped? Gods didn't just pour out of rifts and then stop all of a sudden. "A good point," She nodded, exhaling a small breath, "we don't need them prowling near the throat." The mention of patrols being lazy brings a brief, smirk to her lips, a well built shoulder coming to lightly bump against his. Partly it was in playfulness, and partly it was in her own desire to get just that little bit closer to him. "I guess we'll have to pick up the slack, won't we? I doubt you'll have much trouble keeping up."

The heatless flames on his wings and hooves are a welcome godsend, that they do not crackle and writhe with heat to add to the already sweltering temperatures radiating around them. Instead, they offer a soothing light which brings out the best in both of them, proudly showing their hard earned bodies in a way which drew the mouth to water, and breath to hitch in the back of the most composed throat in the room. A hot blooded woman by any stretch of the imagination, it was slowly becoming a difficult task to keep herself from wandering the more tantalizing roads life had to offer.

"How about a small race? To the boulder in the distance?" Blue and gold having fixated on a small white boulder flicker in the expansive distance. A little naughty on her behalf, she had to internally admit, for wanting to see that body of his in motion. On the other hand, if push comes to shove, she can claim that it's a good warm up, should they find any lurking beasts on their patrol. "We may as well have a little fun, if it's just the two of us." There's a honeyed lilt to her voice, that she couldn't stop from lacing within her words, but the words are already spoken and she's not one to go back. She doesn't give him much time to say yes, or no, velvet lips wrapping around one of his tangled locks, inhaling the smell of rain and bone as she did so and gave it a quick, teasing tug.


With that, she urged herself into a gallop, her strides effortless and elegant as she ghosted over the mirrored plains. "The winner can decide what they want." Head half curled to let her gold eye land on his form, between her own tangled strands of black and orange.





talk talk talk

Nephele

Love,
 my territory of kisses and volcanoes

There was something exhilarating in simply being, whirling away upon freedom's wings, carried forth by her energetic strides with her own sails threatening to expand and carry her away. There was something about indulging in simple pleasures and letting them carry you away, pulse through your body until the adrenaline and heightened thoughts and emotions became a flurry and all else that was you became blurred around the edges. Morals and realities were just a speck of dust to be brushed away by a feather, or an exhaled breath against sweat slicked skin.
She moved like the wind, long, tangled locks of copper and black streaking across the mirror of the world like a carefully crafted mirage.

Something else was mixing in with the flurry thrumming through her mind, vibrating through her body with tenacity unmatched. It wrapped itself firmly around her, carefully lacing through her inner most workings until her eyes half-lidded and her breath became hitched with something other than lack of oxygen and the unbearable heat.


Slicked back ears can hear Gaucho behind her, multi-colored eyes able to see him in the corners of her vision. She wants to win, however curious she may be to what the Sultan might've asked for if he wins. She's realistic in the assumption that he could win, take over at any moment and surge past her galloping frame in a swirl of black feathers and fire. Yet he doesn't, he nips at her heels until the boulder is in sight, allows her to gracefully claim herself the victor. Let her have her fifteen minutes of fame and smugness that she had beaten the infamous Gaucho — even if the victory is half as sweet. It's still sweet as summer fruit, as delicious as the succulent autumn harvest as the leaves turn red and the nights turn cold.

The warrioress is slow to stop, winding down to a halt with hind leg cocked to the side to make her appear more rounded in all the right places. Muscles twitching in protest at the ending of the game, they still have plenty of stored energy to burn through, they could run for miles they seem to whisper to her. Nostrils flare for oxygen, and her curling mane sticks lightly against her neck as her pelt becomes shades darker with the sweat which pools upon it's painted surface. It's all instinctual, the comedown, for her mind is on other more pleasant things.


She's won after all, blue and gold eyes fixated on the stallion with a gaze that couldn't be classed as anything but sultry. "What do I want?" It's a lilted purred response, a teasing reply as she pretends to ponder. What would any mare want, in this moment? Wound up and high on adrenaline, the choice is obvious to her mile a minute mind. While his feather would make an excellent addition to her tangled hair, braid a thick gathering of locks to store it like a precious trophy, it doesn't quite satisfy her wants.

Her legs carry her forward again, this time at a slinking pace as she comes alongside of her Sultan, body pressing close to his in a touch which is anything but friendly and mundane. She's close enough for him to smell and taste, to ghost his gaze over each dip and curve her body has to offer, and offering him the chance to take it. Velvet muzzle extended to leave light nips along his salted pelt, a not so subtle invitation and declaration of what she wants, it's him she wants as her prize. There isn't a thought given to articulating her desires in words, and she doubts there needs to be any more words spoken. The occasional caress of her lips and teeth rougher than the last, this is not a sonata between deeply entwined lovers, though she cannot help but admit she may hold a small flickering flame of attraction for Gaucho. It's purely primal, giving in and staking claim to a prize. Perhaps she will take a feather when it's ended, a stolen memento of a tryst that is unlikely to happen ever again. A secret that she will keep to herself and replay in her mind when nights are particularly cold and lonely.



talk talk talk

Nephele

Love,
 my territory of kisses and volcanoes