Because Of You
08-07-2013, 10:29 AM
Cut me loose
My parachute won't let me fall Don't be afraid of a chance for a miracle
Orica hummed oh so quietly to herself, almost letting it trill as Demyan laid down to cuddle around her. She was quite comfortable around him, after all, she'd already spent one night snuggled up against his belly, trying to keep the herbs she'd applied in place. It was different though now, because instead of pushing her away or standing still as stone, he was the one brushing his pelt against hers. He even brought his haunches around to keep her close. He might as well have been a safety blanket or a sleeping bag. Despite the Northern Waste outside, Orica felt as warm and snug as could be possible. There was just one thing wrong; she'd laid down so she could get a better view of him - but the way he'd reclined - at her side with his paws by her neck, she still had to crane around uncomfortable to see what he was thinking about. She could fix that though. Wriggling about like an eel, Orica rolled over onto her back. The black fae turned suddenly to the color of milk. Her tail thrummed against the confines of Demyan's fur, and her fore paws tucked in against her soft belly fur. She even arched her back and curled her neck so that she could use the male's nearest foreleg for a pillow. With her head resting comfortably, she could better focus now on what he was saying. His words to the negative made her roll her eyes playfully. She'd have to fix that. She'd fill his head with better tales and maybe by the end of the night she'd get him to play her game and just make up one. In the meantime though... She starting rifling through the many that she knew. She was aware that most of them were just pup's tales and she thought hard to figure out which ones the grey hunter might like. 'Grey Hunter', yes that was still one of her unconscious nicknames for him. It had been what she had first thought of him as when they'd met, and, in more ways than one, it fit. "-If I remember correctly you're pretty good at telling them." Orica blinked, remembering the brief story she'd told him. The one about Clash and Drake... "Demyan," she murmured, as though about to make a confession. "I didn't tell you before... but that story was real. It was about my grandmother and grandfather, and how they met." And how they fell in love. She wanted to tell him that. To lend credit and hope to the story that could perhaps be a mirror of his own. - And then she realized just how much that mirror might be applied, and how her words could be taken. Clash and Drake... Orica and Demyan... If history was indeed given to repeating itself -- Orica blushed deeply, her forepaws tensing closer and her head leaning back, in part because she was too shy now to be that close to Demyan's eyes. But then of course that just meant that she was pressing more into his fur. |
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