Odin's Prize

Struggle

Anticipation

The palm of his hand resting just above my bare knee. 

Swirling

Curling

Churning

Tendons aching as the current of warmth manifests into something burning, spreading within the layering of skin. Desire pulling on me, nothing pushing my restraint back. I can detect the change in his scent, it's warmer darker, heavier. The rich fertile soil is rising from his pores that's inhaled greedily by my lungs that are being coated with the smell of him.

Pulse rate quickening with each flexing, shifting muscle on Odin's forearm that I'm holding while he shifts his direction back down to below my knee. 

Lips have replaced canines on my neck.

Odin's having trouble breathing, little gasps of air out of a chest that's pressed against my back. When he does expand those lungs to pull in a deep breath, he holds it for a long moment inside himself only to exhale it out with a deliberate slowness. 

Turning my head to look into those greens that are dilating, constricting within themselves the internal struggle that's showcasing is violently raw. 

The Nature of skin fighting against the Nature of fur. 

Intellect is combating savagery on an epic level that only can be seen through the vital signs of life. He holds the flush of crimson on his face. Respirations are increasing even though he's trying desperately to control the rate. The beating of his heart is pounding, thumping on the left side of his chest. A blood vessel has broken in his right eye with the internal pressure that must be devastatingly high on his system.

His breathing is lowering, raising within the same breath. Odin is trying to recover himself. While I don't want to be recovered.

Hands on my hips gently ease me to a standing position, legs shaking from the weight of myself at the moment. Odin takes a direct path towards the door that leads outside. When he opens it, a rush of freezing wind bites through the layers of heat. A blizzard of incredible strength has started back up. Odin doesn't look back, closing the door behind him leaving me in this house by myself. 

After a minute or it could be two, a mournful, deep howl rises above the storms fury outside. It's a long drawn out sound that makes my wolf inside rise, trying to call out to a mate that is hurting. 

It takes a few minutes after that sound to settle the inside of myself back down. Going to the sink, deciding to keep my hands busy with other things than what they want to do to myself. 

It's quick two bowls, two spoons and a pot with a ladle. Letting them dry on the other side of the sink the window is covered by a curtain that's pulled closed. Opening it a crack, the light casting a sliver of sight to see that the storm is gathering in force. 

The face of the Wolf blocks the storm momentarily, dark eyes staring into the window. He must be up on hind legs, peering into the glass with the direction of vision aimed at me.

This wolf is muscle and sinew wrapped around solid thick bones, encased in fur of the softest kind. His breathing is fogging up the window pane with each breath it takes. Snow accumulating on its fur, the top of his head. The wolf's nose pulls back showcasing weaponry of War that is flashed before his nose relaxes down to once again cover his sharp canines.

His paw starts to scratch at the glass, a lick to the glass before he drops down out of sight again. Looking up in the storm ravaged sky, there is no view of the Moon. It's covered up by Nature's fury that's hurtling her War of displeasure upon this territory of the Far North.