Sand Castles

Folding her ears against her crown, Leera watches him through a narrowed, hungry gaze as he moves closer, closer, closer until she can feel the heat of his breath against her fur. His hesitance to touch her makes her nearly growl; impatience runs through her veins along with a thick, carnal urge. But she minds herself well enough, determined to seduce Tyranis, choosing to stay silent as he speaks about his people and how there are not enough of them.

She also pauses when he asks if she'd consider joining the Erövrare ranks, and the vaults of her mind tick with thought before she parts her dark lips to speak in a voice barely above a murmur. "Give me a place in Erövrare and, in return, I'll bear your children." After all, it's numbers he needs. That's something her womanhood can offer him. Leera tilts her head at an angle, watching his expression. "But if I take your seed, I will not be tossed aside as a commoner. You'll give me a rank worth negotiating for." That is how the game works -- give and take. There's something they both desire, so why not settle for an old-fashioned trade?

Leera runs her tongue across her lips again, watching Tyranis through a seductive haze. She attempts to brush her shoulder against his, wanting him to feel the silkiness of her fur and smell the warm smoke of her skin. "Come on, Tyranis... it's what we both want..." she aims her breathy voice into his ear.