There was still a very primal and very simple way about her life. She had gone through the wilderness with very little tools at her disposal, and less aid once the stupid horse had broken its leg. Caring for a child during this was an insane, but not impossible, feat. Finding the others was what had made her wait—she had not stopped until the land spoke, and until she caught the whisper of power in its breath. How right she had been, now. The gods had proven this the night that the moon bled red and she had collapsed on the shore. Power coursed through these lands.
Such power was no better exemplified than in the man who came forth from the underbrush. Siv subconsciously stiffened in his presence; his musk radiated forth and practically screamed what he was. Master of this land, Hunter, Lord. He was in his prime, her elder; he was old enough to know the difference between youthful cruelty and elder wisdom. There was an instant repelling force from him, but it was like that of a riptide. Deep in her loins she felt the familiar stirrings of heat, but he was not a man who could so easily be conquered. She could tell this from the scars on his chest, the very way he carried himself. Deep in her eyes a dark flame flickered, perhaps the only hint that she found him attractive. This was not even a physical response—he was too short for her liking, though instinctively, her body recognized the alpha male’s power and desired it.
Siv would not have been able to properly submit in her form without dropping to the ground, but she made a display of doing something similar. Head dropped, knees bent, and she sunk briefly to touch the ground with one dark palm. This done, she returned and while her head was high, her eyes remained carefully locked at the clasp around his neck. “My Lord Hunter,” her voice rolled forth, formal and trained for public speaking. “I wish to present you with a token of my appreciation.” With this, she held out the reins to him and crossed one arm over her bare, still milk-swollen chest. It was a formal motion, but one done in order to best present her sultry shape to the man. Regardless of his rank, power, or might, he was still a man and all men were, ultimately, simple things.
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