Seneca would be lying if he said he wasn't frustrated. An anger toils in him, though it isn't directed towards anyone but himself. Still, his brooding behavior is likely impossible for @Genya to miss; the storm is palpable. They don't get particularly far from the Oasis before his injuries scream at him to go no further, and though the bleeding has slowed somewhat, his wounds are still significant. He finds shelter from the sun beneath a small outcropping of trees, sinking heavily into the sand with a low grumble, before his gaze finally drifts to his wife. "I'm sorry," is all he can manage to say, the frustration visible in the dark expression he wears upon his face.

Seneca Miroslav

table by ferus, art by sleepykyju

She decided not to linger amongst the crowds of lion traffic and instead trekked where there could be some distance. Genya figured @Seneca would want to talk to her. But for what she didn't know. Either way, she kept her mouth closed and her eyes flitting back to her mate in case he needed something. And when Seneca's wounds bled and he settled for rest, she followed. As dutiful wife, but also a worried friend. Yet still, she kept her worry beneath her mask of coolness as she assessed Seneca's words. Genya was no medic; he will have to find healing from someone else. Don't be Her word was low as she settled beside him. Her silver eyes lingered upon her missing toe before it rose to her front. Go again next time and make sure you win. It was easy for her to say.

Don't be, she says, and yet, how can he not? Seneca is young, and foolhardy -- too certain of himself when he doesn't yet boast the amount of experience that warrants it, but that is the way he had been raised. To assume he is better than simply because of who he is. He leans into her touch, his eyes half closed in his struggling trial to accept; defeat is not something he has faced often in his life. "As you wish," he murmurs softly, his anger dissipating somewhat, albeit slowly. Her reminder to look to the future helps to steady his fury, to remind him that this is only one moment -- it is not his fate in entirety.

Seneca Miroslav

table by ferus, art by sleepykyju

We need to move This is no place for a wounded to be. Genya was certain they still had their individual pride scents lingering on their coat. Seneca smelled still of the bluff and she of the lagoon. Yet, she felt like she never belonged. Not like how Amara and Cassine did — as if they were born there. Truly she had no home but the home that was this country. Genya would be content being a wanderer, but ambitions, ambitions. She still had yet to find her crown. Seneca's body lingering near hers made her attention snap back into reality. What do you suppose we do now? They could return to their individual prides and pretend the challenge never existed. Or— Perhaps there's one thing you can do; something we can do. She slipped down onto her belly, eyes glimmering with intent.

"Later," he rumbles in response; his injuries have crippled him considerably, and Seneca has no desire in seeking further shelter at the moment. "I told Aarani I would return to her borders. She wants to...fix the damage she caused." His lips purse slightly, a mild amount of confusion evident in his tone. He doesn't understand her, or her intentions, but he hardly knows of any other healers that are willing to aid him. In most cases, he would simply suffer his wounds without one, but he isn't a fool, and recognizes the severity of the damage to his leg.

"After that...I don't know. Do you wish to return to the Lagoon?" he queries, arching a brow. He suspects that he already knows the answer, but he needs to hear it in so many words. Her movements hardly go unnoticed by the beast, and his lips quiver with a minute trace of amusement -- she always knows how to rile him in the best of ways. Still, he doesn't yet submit to her goading, maintaining his reclined position in the sand and extending his muzzle towards her nape, his breath warm against her cheek. "Is there now?" he rumbles, knowing full well that he is teasing her.

Seneca Miroslav

table by ferus, art by sleepykyju

Oh? That was new. A new leader who was regretful of her action? Genya was interested to see how that would turn out, but she rather not meddle anymore. Perhaps something good would come of it. She seems...nice. It was only a brief look at the woman. All pale coat and proper, as if she was born a princess. That could be a good thing; a woman who wanted only peace meant no trouble would be brought to the members. No, I want to leave as soon as I can. She was certain Amara would release her. Or Cassine. A part of her wanted to just leave and never go back. It's not right for us to raise children when we're in different prides now, no? Her dark lips curled into a smirk as she studied Seneca's reaction.

He shrugs, still somewhat baffled by Aarani's demand for him to return. "Evidently," he muses, certain that he will learn more about her intent when he goes back to the Oasis. For now, he lets the subject drop -- he doesn't particularly wish to talk about the woman who had bested him on the field of battle.

Genya's honesty is something he had expected, but he is glad to hear it all the same. He hardly has any intentions of finding himself in the Lagoon, after all -- not with his dislike of the lions who rule it. "You're right," he answers, though the implications are not lost on him. Seneca, too, finds himself eager and excited at the prospect of children, and a family of his own, more than just what he shares with Genya. "We'll figure something out," he rumbles, his tone darkening somewhat -- later. They have plenty of time to figure out the details, after all. Despite the protest from his wounds, Seneca seeks to sling his battered foreleg over her withers, his claws needling at her flesh as a low growl rumbles in his chest, demanding her further attention.

Seneca Miroslav

table by ferus, art by sleepykyju

It would seem that Seneca already had the intentions of going forth with their plan for a family. Genya had no reason to stop him, even when the pungent scent of blood was in the air. A part of her was excited, impatient even, for the man to began. She had already grown accustomed to these sudden moments so that her tail was flicking at the ground. Now would be a good time, don't you think? Her voice was low and sultry as she regarded her husband with a playful look. Genya made sure to move against him, feeling as much of Seneca as she could.

Genya toys with him in all the right ways, knowing just which buttons to press to rile the piebald Miroslav man. Truthfully, it doesn't take much to goad him, and she already knows this -- she has learned it time and time again, with each time that they have seen one another. He lives for these private moments they share, infrequent though they may be, given the fact that they live in different pridelands, far apart from one another. It only makes it that much sweeter when they find the gratification they can share together. Seneca heaves himself to his feet at her supple insistence, a soft smirk touching his lips -- he ignores the screaming complaints from his wounds. He hovers over her with a forepaw on either side of her shoulders, his muzzle dipping teasingly against the base of her ear, "right now?"

Seneca Miroslav

table by ferus, art by sleepykyju

Yes, right now., her voice was a touch gruff, impatient almost, but also riddled with the pent-up lust she felt for the man. His teasing tone and the way he so possessively held himself above her did nothing to satiate her. Genya wanted @Seneca; she'd wanted him the moment their first coupling happened. And now she was his wife and he her husband. They were perfect together, and all they needed now were heirs. Perfect little ones for a perfect family. A thick purr slipped out of Genya's mouth as she curled against her husband, allowing him to do anything he wanted with her. [fade/exit]