Private Tales Feral Animals

[Yavanna]

Warm fingertips curling, nails biting into skin. Hot breath tickling the ear.

The sleeping elf stirred, arching back into the warmth, pressing deeper into it. Craving, from the depths of slumber, any pleasure. Any heat. Anything but the cold and the pain.

Yavanna's head tilted as she moved and a nose brushed against her cheek. Then lips. This must be some waking dream. She turned into it, chasing the fantasy.

The softest of moans cooed from the bow of her lips into the silence of that hollow.

Sable

 

[Sable]

Her hips rolled subtly against Yavanna’s. The hollow was silent around them, broken only by ragged breaths and the faint rustle of leaves outside, while Sable remained lost in a dream that blurred desire and exhaustion into one unrelenting current.

Her hand roamed, up over ribs and breast, until it curled around the smooth curve of Yavanna’s throat. Her lips brushed the side of the elf’s neck, warm and hungry... And then her teeth sank in, not enough to break skin, but enough to mark, to anchor, to claim in the dreamy haze she didn’t yet wake from.

 

[Yavanna]

Pressure on her ribs, painful against a bruise, then it rose higher and the pain melted away as fingers curled tightly into her neck. The tendons of her throat pressed against the offending hand. Yavanna stirred.

Was she dreaming?

Hot breath, then the sharp press of teeth against the soft flesh of her neck.

Yavanna let out a sound, not quite a whimper. Her back arched, hips rolling back further. Leaves crunched and stirred beneath her.

Where was she?

Why did her body ache and-… unnff. Yavanna bit her lower lip as the sensations of foreign hand and teeth washed over her.

Sable

 

[Sable]

The rustle of leaves snapped her back to reality.

Sable’s eyes flew open and her body went rigid, the heat of the elf pressed too close, her mouth far too near skin it had no business being near. For half a heartbeat she didn’t move, just breathed, hard and uneven before awareness slammed in alongside pain, poison, exhaustion, and the very clear fact that something had gone wrong.

She tore herself back with a sharp hiss, forcing her weight up onto one elbow despite the screaming protest of her wounded shoulder. Her free arm came down automatically, bracing across Yavanna’s throat, pinning her, holding her flat against the roots with practiced force.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snapped.

Her face hovered inches above the elf’s, flushed and furious, sweat slicking her skin, grey eyes sharp despite the fever burning through her. Whatever had happened in sleep was gone now, replaced by control and barely leashed temper.

 

[Yavanna]

Yavanna froze. Her blood turned to ice in her veins. The arm over her throat constricted her breath, painful and crushing against her trachea. She tried to shift, but that only brought another flash of agony as the wound in her shoulder flared.

"Me?" she managed to hiss out, aghast as she looked up at the face of the human. Her captor. The one who abducted her, chained her, and stabbed her. The one who beat her. The one who... who... She could still feel the lingering warmth on her neck from a hand. And lips.

"Your mind is addled by poison, human," Yavanna bared her teeth at the woman, "I was asleep."

Sable

 

[Sable]

For a heartbeat longer she held her there, eyes locked on Yavanna’s face, jaw clenched so tight her teeth ground.

Asleep.

The fury in Sable’s expression cracked, not gone, but fractured, something ugly and unsettled bleeding through it. Her grip eased, just a fraction, enough that the pressure on the elf’s throat lessened from crushing to merely restraining. She searched Yavanna’s eyes like she expected to find a spell coiled there, a trick, something.

But the collar still gleamed mercilessly at her neck.

A sharp, shuddering breath tore out of Sable as realisation hit. Heat rolled through her again, too intense, too wrong, her pulse roaring in her ears. The poison wasn’t just burning through her veins, it was clawing at her head, warping instinct, blurring lines that should never have blurred.

Why else would she be here, hovering over an elf, noticing anything other than how easily her neck would snap? Why else would she look at her and see anything other than revulsion? Her ears were disgusting, yes, but it was difficult to deny that the elf's face and body were easy on the eyes.

With a low curse, she pulled away entirely, rolling onto her back with a grimace as pain flared in her shoulder. She dragged in air like she’d been drowning, forearm thrown over her eyes, chest heaving.

“Fuck,” she growled, the word scraping her raw throat. She needed water. Her skin felt fever-hot, sweat cooling too fast against the night air. She clenched her teeth, riding out another wave, anger now turned inward and vicious. The poison was trying its very best to kill her, but she refused to allow it. She had not been poisoned by almost every known toxin, suffering through every one of them to allow it to take her out. Fuck no.

Just another few hours..

"Go back to sleep." she hissed.

 

[Yavanna]

"Why?" Yavanna snapped back. "So you can put your filthy human hands all over me again?"

Her amber eyes stared back defiantly. She'd scarcely slept at all, maybe two hours, but it had done wonders for her reserve of rebellion. That... and the feeling of this mortal's lips on her neck. Yavanna tried to maintain her glare, but recalling the sensation made her swallow suddenly, chest rising and falling softly.

"Is that what you were planning on doing all along, or is your brain just so meddled by poison that you'll hump anything with a pulse?"

Grinding her shoulders back into the dirt, one grazed a root and sent a flash of pain up through her injured arm. She bit back a gasp of excruciating agony, then promptly clamped her mouth shut. Trading barbs with the human was fine when her skin had not been covered in bruises and a damned dagger wound in her shoulder.

Rabid ferret.

Sable

 

[Sable]

Sable hissed like a cornered animal. It wasn’t worth the breath. Not when every swallow tasted like metal and heat kept rolling through her in sickening waves.

“Shut up,” she spat, voice hoarse and thin with strain. Then she turned away from the elf entirely.

She barely made it out of the hollow before dropping to her hands and knees, one arm hugging her wounded shoulder as her stomach heaved. Whatever the beastmen had tipped their arrows with burned its way up her throat, and she retched violently into the undergrowth. Her whole body shook with it, breath coming in ragged pulls when it finally passed.

When she forced herself to look up, her eyes scanned the forest floor. Shrubs. Low ferns. Pale bell-shaped flowers nodding in the shade. Creeping vines with waxy leaves. Her gaze lingered on anything that might draw poison out, slow it, dull it.

She dragged herself to one knee, fingers digging into the soil as she tore up a clump of narrow, serrated leaves and crushed them between her fingers, sniffing. Too sweet. Useless. Nothing obvious. Nothing she trusted. She couldn't stray from the elf to look properly.

“Fuck,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she swayed. Her vision swam, the edges darkening, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth, forcing herself to stay upright.

She shot Yavanna a warning glare as she reappeared in the little hollow, pale and sweating, eyes bright with fever.

“If you’re thinking of saying another word,” Sable growled, voice rough as gravel, “don’t. Otherwise this poison might just addle my mind too much and I might accidentally stab you to death. That would..be a shame."

 

[Yavanna]

Yavanna did not want to be stabbed to death. Or again. Or ever. So she remained silent.

Verbally.

But her eyebrow arched nearly to her hairline, her arms crossed - as much as they could with the manacles - and she looked sourly between the dreadlord's clammy face and the herbs in her hands.

Did the human really expect to make a poultice from those? Yavanna rolled her eyes.

She doubted the human even knew exactly what herbs she held. Why bother asking the centuries old elf? Surely she won't know any answers about healing...

Except the dreadlord would expect Yavanna to concoct some sort of paralytic or sleeping agent so Yavanna could sleep free.

Rightfully so.

Yavanna heaved a huge sigh and settled in to watch the human try to avoid dying from poison.

Sable

 

[Sable]

Sable felt the stare like grit under her skin.

She didn’t look at the elf at first. She focused on breathing in slow, measured pulls, forcing the air to move the way she told it to, thinning it, cooling it, trying to keep the poison from racing her heart into uselessness. It helped. Barely. Like holding back a flood with cupped hands.

Then another wave of pain and nausea hit, sharp enough to make her vision spark white at the edges.

She swore under her breath and finally turned her head, grey eyes cutting sideways to catch Yavanna’s arched brow and folded arms. The silent judgment. The patience of something ancient watching a mortal fumble.

Her lip curled.

“If you’re enjoying this,” Sable rasped, “savour it. Might be the highlight of your day.”

She tried crushing another leaf anyway, stubborn to the bone, smeared it against her palm, and immediately hissed as the sap stung. She flung it aside with a sharp flick of her wrist.

“…shit.”

That did it. The admission tasted sour. Her gaze snapped back to the elf, hard and suspicious, but threaded now with something else.. Calculation. Reluctance. Need.

“You recognise it,” she said, not a question. “The poison. Or the plants. Something.”

She pushed herself more upright against the roots, jaw tight. The air around her stirred unconsciously, leaves trembling, dust lifting and settling again with each laboured breath she took.

“Don’t get clever. You help me not die, and I’ll make sure you’re still breathing when we leave this forest. You won't get those manacles off without me." she warned, shuddering, bloodshot eyes locking on Yavanna’s amber stare.

 

[Yavanna]

"Hmm, such an enticing offer," Yavanna mused, stretching out a bruised leg as she lay upon the ground, toe touching a knotted root jutting in front of her. "All the effort from me in exchange for a human promise."

She circled the root with her toe, "Which your kind are so famous for keeping."

Yavanna supposed she could not continue to watch the woman cover herself in the sap of random plants, as much amusement as it gave her. If the dreadlord died right now Yavanna would be without her magic and still chained. Wolfmeat, if ever there were any.

But the memory of the dagger thrust, and the throbbing wound in her shoulder, made her bitter and spiteful.

"The poison smells like Daybane. Treatable, but you'll need to show me you can do more than make such sweet promises before you earn your reward. Ferret."

Yavanna held out her manacles, amber eyes glinting with malicious glee.

Sable

 

[Sable]

The elf was enjoying this. That realisation scraped at what little restraint she had left. She muttered a quiet curse under her breath.

As she spoke of a 'reward' and called her that name, Sable's head snapped up, venom in her glare as it pinned Yavanna in place. Her jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

In a single, sharp movement she moved forward and caught the elf’s wrist, fingers finding the pressure point with brutal precision. Her thumb twisted back, not far enough to break, but close enough that the promise of it screamed loud and clear.

“Sure, I can do more,” Sable snarled, sweat slicking her pale skin. “I can break every finger, one by one. Then we move on to the toes. Slow. Thorough.” Her grip tightened just a fraction.

“And then,” she continued, voice shaking with barely leashed fury, “we’ll see how entertaining you find this.” Grey eyes bored into amber, unblinking.

“So,” she hissed, “you’re going to tell me exactly what I need. What neutralises Daybane. Where to find it. How to prepare it.” A sharp exhale tore from her as she leaned closer, pain and rage braided tight together.

“Now,” Sable finished coldly, “before I really do lose my patience.”

 

[Yavanna]

Yavanna was a sorceress of the Falwood, feared by humans and revered by elven kind. She would not scream.

The dreadlord twisted back the elf’s hand, applying pressure. So hard and unyielding that Yavanna thought the dreadlord’s fingers might be made of iron. The muscles and bones of her hand flared with pain.

And Yavanna had already been through so much in the last day. Abducted, beaten, stabbed, and beaten again. She’d lived centuries as an unmarred beauty, flawless in every way. And now in a single day this human threatened to leave her scarred, broken, deformed and… at the end of it all probably dead, hanging from Vel Anir’s walls.

A whimper broke through her lips.

Tears welled in golden amber eyes, but she found no mercy in her enemy’s eyes. Eyes of steel, sharp and ruthless.

“You’re hurting me,” Yavanna mewled, knowing she sounded pathetic. She tried to steady her voice, a desperate chuckle sounding more like a sob bubbling up in her throat, “But it’s j-j-just an excuse to hold my hand.”

Her eyes flared and for a moment, despite the unshed tears shimmering in them, she looked once more the wolf of the emerald forest, fierce and deadly.

“What would your people say? Can you imagine your archon’s face, catching you tasting me?” she sneered.

Sable