He hates himself for relying so heavily upon the heat. He, who had survived a winter almost entirely alone in the Frostbreath steppe, huddled now for warmth in the high season of Orangemoon. What has he lost along with his confidence, he wonders? He curses himself each day for letting himself fall in the invasion, but is this pitiful existence, spent drinking the warmth of that which he despises the most, one of further shame? With an angry snort he lets his thick tail lash angrily against his hocks, and begins slowly to turn away from the heart. He stops himself from instinctively summoning a storm with the faint, musical purr that allows him to focus, remembering at the last second how his faulty magic's ash had burned him at the threshold. Still, Addison's words had held more bite than the fiery flecks. He feels foolish for letting her affect him so.

Is he not stronger than this? How is it that he has been reduced to self-pity, to garnering for false friends and wallowing in his own emotional upset? He remembers now how he had lashed out at his herdmate in Tallsun. He knows now that she had likely not deserved it, that his response had been one borne out of insult and shame. Still, it had happened; still, he dwells on it.

His body at last completes its rotation, and he is shocked to see the very Owless who had only moments prior occupied his mind. Her greeting is blunt, his is silent. His lips slightly parted by surprise, he lets words for her slip softly from between them in a whisper: "Well if it isn't the Owless herself." He does not think to note whether or not it might be heard; he very infrequently thinks before he speaks.

His eyes rove unabashedly across the picture of the Avikun before him, and he pulls his neck back, lifting himself so that he might puff out his chest and assert his powerful build. She too, he notes, seems to be preening. He wonders what she is thinking; why she spreads her wings so, why she parts her legs and tucked her delicate nose to her chest. Is she hoping to show him her impressively unique features, is she trying to catch his eye?

No, he thinks. Surely she is just angling away from the heat of the heart that strikes his back so relentlessly. It is all of his own accord that he notes her appearance now, all of his own understanding that she might be, somehow, beckoning him closer.

Still, like a snake entranced, he slides forward. The distance between them grows shorter each moment, until he stands directly before her, looking down at her slender, petite figure from his high, muscled throne. His own features, softened slightly by his mother's blood and breeding, are marked by intrigue and fascination. Once more, she has piqued his curiosity. "You," he echoes, his low tone complementing her sultry ones. His ever uncharacteristic breath, smelling of honey and a winter meadow, spreads towards her as he exhales deeply. He seems almost breathless; perhaps that is the true magic of the Avikun kind, then. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you came here looking for trouble," he comments with a slanted smirk and a haughty snort.

He has spoken without thinking once more; he curses himself silently. "Looking for trouble?" What the hell does that mean? Is he the trouble? Maybe, he knows he has never been a good influence on anyone throughout his life. Perhaps the comment had been one born of conceit. Had he not been thinking of her, in some strange way missing her, only moments before? Does he not think, now, that this chance encounter in some way echoes their first meeting?

He does not believe in coincidences, he never has. It would be foolish to think that mere chance brought them together this evening, in the same place where they had first met. Fate is fate, controlled by forces beyond his control. Just as death's cards are spread by fate's hand, perhaps, too, is this meeting. He thinks back to what he has so foolishly said, and wonders why he has said it.

Is it meant to betray that which he desires? He does not know better, it seems strange that he would question any choice of hers given how little he knows. Besides, she seems exactly the sort to seek out trouble. Perhaps it is a questioning of himself, then. A questioning of what he truly knows or wants.



[[ PC: 2/X || WC: 764 || MU: 0/2 || AS: No attacks made || N: Sorry about the wait. ]]