Well, at least she'd been doing the sane thing and keeping out of the heat... And that was where sanity ended for Mauja. Lotus' gaze seemed to sharpen, zone in on him in a most disconcerting way - he felt like a meal, being evaluated for its tastiness before sinking the teeth into it. In silent protest he slapped his tail against his hocks, but what could that possibly amount to? Slapping his tail wouldn't make her eye him any other way! And that damnable scent... "And you, my King." Her voice had definitely taken on another quality now, almost a husky drawl, a smooth purr; it sent an involuntary shiver through him to be targeted in such a fashion, a conflict within. There was the beast and the mind, at odds about the best course of action. "I wonder, m'Lord, if you might like to.. Come along nicely too?" Beside him, d'Artagnan seemed to choke on something, nearly bursting into laughter. "Come along nice-? Lotus!" At first he'd just been mindlessly repeating what she'd been saying, but then it struck him like a sledgehammer in the head and he was left gaping, trying to find words. Somewhere deep inside he didn't mind, and that surprised him, but he somehow felt morally obliged to attempt to chastise her for her shameless flirting - not very convincingly, though... "That's, that.. that's inappropriate!" he finally managed to blurt out. And unfair! Coupled with the subtle sway of her body as she breathed, and the breeze touching her flowers and bringing their scent deep into his lungs, it was hard to not give in. He'd always been annoyingly aware of her feminine presence, but never in quite such a way - they'd never met quite so privately before, and she'd certainly never flirted with him before. Her lashes kept going down across her soft brown eyes, enchanting in their simple, slow motion.

Damn it!

And d'Artagnan wasn't making it better by helping them along in the flirtation process and then fleeing into the forest with the promise of seeing Gossamer about a cliff. Well, do! he thought helplessly as his ally fled, leaving him alone with a ridiculously captivating, frighteningly so, mare. When had this happened? When had he become such a puppet to his body, his urges? But it was so hard to ignore the sultry hunger in her gaze, the intensity of her presence, the smell of her body, the smell of her flowers, and the way it warmed his gut, seeping like poison through his blood. He couldn't ignore his rapid pulse, strong but fleet-footed in his veins, and its silent demand. Without meaning to, without knowing that he did, he stepped closer, one twitching step and then two, until he was close enough to touch her earth-colored body. She was short, but not unattractive - slender but not soft, not without strength, a feline, predatory grace. Some unclassified noise rumbled deep in his chest as he reached out to touch her wither, his own nerves taut; was she just playing? If she did... So close to the flowers, he couldn't help it any longer - he had no chance at all, so deeply drugged by her attractive magic. He took yet another step closer, pushing his broad white chest against hers, and without further ado tried to sweep Dirk off her back with his head. If he didn't want any witnesses as he succumbed to her desires, or simply didn't want an audience would probably remain unknown forever.

It looks I'm inappropriate too, was one of his last coherent thoughts before he mostly stopped thinking.