The Fog is Lifted

Heath morte dre Soul · 07-10-2010, 11:32 AM

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made you something here.

He had wanted to do something for her for some time. Of course he had attempted to make her a meal in the past weeks, but she had refused to eat. Even her refusals had been heartfelt and kind, and Heath had been nothing but understanding because of her always gentle approach. But now that she was awake from the daze he could not help but move quickly and with purpose to shred the pelt from the kill he had made that day; the other uneaten carcasses had been tossed to the birds after each day she refused to eat. Heath had not starved himself, but eaten little in those days as well. Now, his stomach was grumbling right along with his mate’s. The skin was nothing for his bare claws, and in moments the meat was prepped, roughly but still furless and editable.

Returning to the fire, Heath kneeled to the floor as he placed it on the spit and then turned to find Ruri and their kitten snuggled on the couch. The fire at his back crackled and spoke of its awakening. He poked at it, watching her rather then the flames. In their swimming games and quick retreat back home Heath had forgotten briefly how much he missed her. It had been like they were living in different world, different times. Though they had touched, his embraces hoping to bring her out of that depression he had not really felt her. The kisses from the chase and catch they had played were merely teasing for the male, a shadow of the true passion that he knew boiled beneath both their pelts.

Sitting beside the fire, the meal that they wished to share roasting, its scent filling the room quickly and Heath noticed that his moth watered for something else.
Amour, He spoke, a slight question hanging on the tip of his tongue. He had never called another by that name, never known its meaning until meeting her, until she taught it to her. His voice was thick as he stood and reached for her hand. Come sit by the fire. He wanted her close. Heath tried to never be selfish, not in regards of his mate. He might keep the better tack for himself at the stables, and train Lumière and Stark more often then the others, for his own benefit. He tried never to place himself before her. But for the moment, he asked her to sit with him to satisfy the yearning for the contact that he had been denied for too long.

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