Word Count » 5+
Although she was an insolent sprite, Sirius was in the mood to humor her, and perhaps Tlantli could sense it. He had the strange suspicion that she was well able to tell the color of his moods, and how far she could push him - It Atlantic the HunterKing to be so predictable, even to her, and he resolved to hold his emotions better in check. None should know his heart or mind but himself; Certainly, not the sumptuous shaman Fae.
She walked with light steps beside him, graced with the blessing of her coyote blood to be forever elegant, in spite of her practicality. There was something about such dainty features, so marred by the brutal fangs she had fashioned, and the self-inflicted markings also, that made her seem more powerful and intimidating than any large wolf. Tlantli emanated an aura of her own creation, and blind as he was to the ways of the spirit and the dead, even Sirius could understand her secret power. Like Eris, the woman was connected in some way to a spiritual plane that he, the canny and grounded King, would never be.
They had reached his dwelling promptly, and time was not lost on the golden-furred Crone. The moment her bruised-rose eyes found the reek of death and the sight of glory, she had crossed to it, pulling the thick and volumed folds tightly to her slender frame. The HunterKing watched in silent and cold amusement, his eyes sharp on the object and the woman. The thick tuft remaining of his tail wagged in response to the animated movements of her own sweeping plume.
But it would seem Tlantli's attention was not to be held for long, for, turning to him abruptly, she voiced her sharp accusation. The Boss' long, elegant ears dipped back on his skull, and his arms crossed defensively again. "Nothing," Sirius said in a flat tone, trying to fashion his expression into something of nonchalance. His ribs pained him, but they were not broken - Merely bruised, and somewhat sliced by the wicked claws of the bear. Wicked claws that were now to be put to use once more.
Hoping to distract the pixie from poking and prodding in search of his injuries, Sirius moved with arrogant strides across his room, pausing a moment to retrieve one of the selection of hunting daggers on his floor. with that, he moved back to the pelt strewn in the middle of the floor, and Tlanli. Without looking at the woman, he spread the bearskin back out and then moved to sit crosslegged on its thick, plush surface. He sat nearest to the front, and picking up one of the skinned limbs, began to neatly hack away at the thick fur attacking the paw to the foreleg.
The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled as he worked, but it was a moment before the King spoke again. "I have a request to make of you, also," His tone was brisk, but retained more of the charm it had had previously. Without looking up at the woman, he continued to severe the paw. "I should like for you to give me the mark, wherever it pleases you. I am as proud to wear it as any." He was not afraid of the pain that the scarification would undoubtedly entertain, but regardless, did not look forward to the wet feeling of his own blood. Having separated the first paw, Sirius placed it before him on the stone floor, and began work on the second.
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