Reva
02-01-10, 01:59 AM
Soft lips curved before parting to laugh. His hands were slightly calloused and worn smooth in some areas from the ax he often wielded. She laughed at the memory his slight embarrassment of his rough hands upon her soft skin, because she adored it.
She loved the gentle scrape and reassuring firmness his hands gave her when they slid over her skin. Those hands cupped her face tilting her gaze to his, as a finger gently traced the curve of her cheek. He watched her lashes lower, with laughter still seeming to linger upon her lips like hovering droplets of the sweetest mead. It had been too long and even as he neared, feeling the hunger stir. No drink, no meat could sate him, but a sip, a taste from those lips.
Nearly an acre away two wolves turned from their sentry at a short call. The pair moved through the trees and tall grass their steps hardly stirred the snow. A scent was upon the air, it made the saliva well and slide down the tongue. It was a heady scent that spurred their pace as much as the scuffling sounds. The scene in the shielded glen gave no room for pause, only action, fresh meat laid upon the frozen earth, steam rising to the harsh blue sky, so fresh the doe still kicked weakly although the life was already gone from its eyes.
Growls and snarls were low as others fed, some upon the carcass, others with their prizes greedily hoarded away from the rest to eat in peace. One sight that had been familiar from when their blind eyes began to open was the brown eyes that regarded them.
Reva looked up as the pair came to the clearing; she eyed them over her bloody fingers before bringing the bloody organ to her mouth. Her cheeks and mouth were already stained red, blood trailed down her chin and neck while her hand appeared to have been encased in a crimson glove. She was fairly certain she had managed to grab the liver, her arm stung faintly where she had been nipped but already it was out of mind as the blood washed over her tongue anew.
The coppery scent and metallic taste had her stomach grumbling as much as the taste of the meat.
Soon the meat was gone leaving the woman to carefully clean off her hands. Her pink tongue cut through the candy apple red fluid before bearing the chill of the harden snow, wiping off the bloody traces from her digits, and taking powdery clumps to clean off her face and neck.
A breeze, gentle as it was, blew and the woman shivered against. Chilled tendril sliding along her flesh made her skin prickle. There was still hunger in her belly, but she remained back from the rest as they ate. The pack was ready to move, she knew it. Food was becoming scarce more than it ever had been in the winters she recalled. She could follow them, lose herself in them, have the company and keep them safe. They would let her follow; even in this form she wore, frail and weak, so very human. They would still take her with them.
Yet it was time to let them go. The thought came even as a familiar form came to her the warmth of a tongue touching her chin before the beast laid beside her, a squared head upon her thigh. She knew him. His step, his stride, his scent, his howl, like she knew them all. But he had no name she could put to human tongue, or one that could even be spoken in her own mind, it simply was.
She laid upon the wolfs' side, her face against his neck enjoying the familiar scent smiling against the fur as the tail thumped upon the snow. A suggestion to play after a hunt, before moving on before any others was attracted to the kill. It was an invitation she would decline usually, sitting back watching the others play before quickly rushing forward, taking the ‘it’ position and simply running as the others quickly gave chase. Yet for now she simply wanted to lay upon the snow and take in the comfort.
Twilight would come and they would go back to the sleep rock, and in the morrow begin their trek after the deer, and she, would be back with the humans.
The thought was neither unappealing nor longed for it simply was necessary. She had came to this land as a beast having left the side of Michael. She stayed here so long because of the wolves as much as the humans here. The y hunted each other to the point of turmoil, and rarely did the animals truly win. The first weeks there she was regarded as a demon and the humans regarded her and the forest with suspicion, so certain the giant wolf that now roamed the forest that surrounded their homes would be the herald of their death. Where in truth, she had done nothing, the humans in their fear of her had not strayed to the forest for some time and unharrassed the wolves hunted their normal prey.
When the great horned wolf had been replaced by the form of a lovely woman who moved with them with no fear, they called her a god. Or a demon, depended on the individual in truth, but all the same peace still reigned.
It had been a shocking afternoon when a child whom had been lost days ago in the midst of the forest had walked out of the trees whole and unharmed in a protective circle of beasts, his hand lightly grasped within the woman’s. They had walked across the field has the town had gathered in awe before the beasts and woman had stopped, the child released and seemed reluctant to leave the furred circle before racing forward to the open arms of his mother.
Reva had watched the exchange with distant eyes, her fingers touching the head of the wolf that had been born of the daughter, of the wolf who had bumped his against her knee.
That had been seasons ago, years, and that same wolf from that day, laid peacefully beneath the snow, the frozen earth and gently placed rocks. Those here had never known a time without the changing one; she was as much part of them as they were to each other.
The female had came when the sun still burned bright, the grasses green and sweet, and the mice plentiful. She had stalked the pack scent filling the trees but stay back, gradually nearing, until she was outside of the cave.
They had tried to drive the female away time and again, but always she returned, and eventually it had been accepted. Then one day, she had became weaker, frailer, looking so much like what would be food. Yet the scent was the same, she snarled, bit, and fought as much as any other and more than before. So the curiosity once again passed and acceptance had came.
So many years that those wolves were passed, their children, and grandchildren now were the pack. So long that the humans who once regarded her as a demon, then a god, had like the animals come to simply accept her timeless presence, forgetting she had indeed came to their village as a traveler.
Instead they told strange tales, of her being a child lost and raised by the wolves, of being a goddess of the wolves, of the forest, of harvest. Others still called her a demoness, but all in all she and the wolves were left in peace. Either avoided or offerings were made at the edge of the forest often as harvest neared of meat that was almost a payment for the task they preformed. How the villages had such fine harvest was not from the wolves, but their cousins, the foxes.
Reva would speak to the fox pair who often had growing kits. They would go to the fields throughout the season to feed upon the mice and the insects that would hinder growing plants, the wolves fed on the meat from the sacrifice, the wolves would lay sated, silent sentries as the foxes hunted and played in the farmers’ field.
For that, she was a goddess.
She loved the gentle scrape and reassuring firmness his hands gave her when they slid over her skin. Those hands cupped her face tilting her gaze to his, as a finger gently traced the curve of her cheek. He watched her lashes lower, with laughter still seeming to linger upon her lips like hovering droplets of the sweetest mead. It had been too long and even as he neared, feeling the hunger stir. No drink, no meat could sate him, but a sip, a taste from those lips.
Nearly an acre away two wolves turned from their sentry at a short call. The pair moved through the trees and tall grass their steps hardly stirred the snow. A scent was upon the air, it made the saliva well and slide down the tongue. It was a heady scent that spurred their pace as much as the scuffling sounds. The scene in the shielded glen gave no room for pause, only action, fresh meat laid upon the frozen earth, steam rising to the harsh blue sky, so fresh the doe still kicked weakly although the life was already gone from its eyes.
Growls and snarls were low as others fed, some upon the carcass, others with their prizes greedily hoarded away from the rest to eat in peace. One sight that had been familiar from when their blind eyes began to open was the brown eyes that regarded them.
Reva looked up as the pair came to the clearing; she eyed them over her bloody fingers before bringing the bloody organ to her mouth. Her cheeks and mouth were already stained red, blood trailed down her chin and neck while her hand appeared to have been encased in a crimson glove. She was fairly certain she had managed to grab the liver, her arm stung faintly where she had been nipped but already it was out of mind as the blood washed over her tongue anew.
The coppery scent and metallic taste had her stomach grumbling as much as the taste of the meat.
Soon the meat was gone leaving the woman to carefully clean off her hands. Her pink tongue cut through the candy apple red fluid before bearing the chill of the harden snow, wiping off the bloody traces from her digits, and taking powdery clumps to clean off her face and neck.
A breeze, gentle as it was, blew and the woman shivered against. Chilled tendril sliding along her flesh made her skin prickle. There was still hunger in her belly, but she remained back from the rest as they ate. The pack was ready to move, she knew it. Food was becoming scarce more than it ever had been in the winters she recalled. She could follow them, lose herself in them, have the company and keep them safe. They would let her follow; even in this form she wore, frail and weak, so very human. They would still take her with them.
Yet it was time to let them go. The thought came even as a familiar form came to her the warmth of a tongue touching her chin before the beast laid beside her, a squared head upon her thigh. She knew him. His step, his stride, his scent, his howl, like she knew them all. But he had no name she could put to human tongue, or one that could even be spoken in her own mind, it simply was.
She laid upon the wolfs' side, her face against his neck enjoying the familiar scent smiling against the fur as the tail thumped upon the snow. A suggestion to play after a hunt, before moving on before any others was attracted to the kill. It was an invitation she would decline usually, sitting back watching the others play before quickly rushing forward, taking the ‘it’ position and simply running as the others quickly gave chase. Yet for now she simply wanted to lay upon the snow and take in the comfort.
Twilight would come and they would go back to the sleep rock, and in the morrow begin their trek after the deer, and she, would be back with the humans.
The thought was neither unappealing nor longed for it simply was necessary. She had came to this land as a beast having left the side of Michael. She stayed here so long because of the wolves as much as the humans here. The y hunted each other to the point of turmoil, and rarely did the animals truly win. The first weeks there she was regarded as a demon and the humans regarded her and the forest with suspicion, so certain the giant wolf that now roamed the forest that surrounded their homes would be the herald of their death. Where in truth, she had done nothing, the humans in their fear of her had not strayed to the forest for some time and unharrassed the wolves hunted their normal prey.
When the great horned wolf had been replaced by the form of a lovely woman who moved with them with no fear, they called her a god. Or a demon, depended on the individual in truth, but all the same peace still reigned.
It had been a shocking afternoon when a child whom had been lost days ago in the midst of the forest had walked out of the trees whole and unharmed in a protective circle of beasts, his hand lightly grasped within the woman’s. They had walked across the field has the town had gathered in awe before the beasts and woman had stopped, the child released and seemed reluctant to leave the furred circle before racing forward to the open arms of his mother.
Reva had watched the exchange with distant eyes, her fingers touching the head of the wolf that had been born of the daughter, of the wolf who had bumped his against her knee.
That had been seasons ago, years, and that same wolf from that day, laid peacefully beneath the snow, the frozen earth and gently placed rocks. Those here had never known a time without the changing one; she was as much part of them as they were to each other.
The female had came when the sun still burned bright, the grasses green and sweet, and the mice plentiful. She had stalked the pack scent filling the trees but stay back, gradually nearing, until she was outside of the cave.
They had tried to drive the female away time and again, but always she returned, and eventually it had been accepted. Then one day, she had became weaker, frailer, looking so much like what would be food. Yet the scent was the same, she snarled, bit, and fought as much as any other and more than before. So the curiosity once again passed and acceptance had came.
So many years that those wolves were passed, their children, and grandchildren now were the pack. So long that the humans who once regarded her as a demon, then a god, had like the animals come to simply accept her timeless presence, forgetting she had indeed came to their village as a traveler.
Instead they told strange tales, of her being a child lost and raised by the wolves, of being a goddess of the wolves, of the forest, of harvest. Others still called her a demoness, but all in all she and the wolves were left in peace. Either avoided or offerings were made at the edge of the forest often as harvest neared of meat that was almost a payment for the task they preformed. How the villages had such fine harvest was not from the wolves, but their cousins, the foxes.
Reva would speak to the fox pair who often had growing kits. They would go to the fields throughout the season to feed upon the mice and the insects that would hinder growing plants, the wolves fed on the meat from the sacrifice, the wolves would lay sated, silent sentries as the foxes hunted and played in the farmers’ field.
For that, she was a goddess.