This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of [Alluding abuse, violence, Assault]

Crimson paws were traveling fast, chest heaving, breaths of fear exhaling with every step. The lioness was shaking, she'd felt so powerful, and it had been taken from her. She shivered as she halted to a stop, her feet couldn't take her any farther and so she slumped into a ball, feeling as small as she did the night she'd watched her father's death. A breath escaped her, shaky and full of fear.

She heard the foot falls of some other beast, ready to take their claim to on her too she assumes, she breathed out again, not looking up, "Just get it over with." Her voice shook, she had no more fight today, she knew he'd come for her, and she was sure she'd follow this time, because it would be less torture than giving him what he wanted. She was his prey, she'd fell in his web. The lioness flattened herself to the ground, not wanting to see the one who came to drag her back.

@Farrow

_{BG — ART — CODE}

He'd returned here to hunt, again. The snowstorms plaguing the Brook had not receded, and there was the ever-increasing threat that they'd soon be snowed out of the Valouran ancestral home. But by now, the jungle had burned. The rains could not bite back the inferno, and Farrow could only hold onto the hope that this were perhaps the chaotic introduction to a more tender plan. Talisa had always painted Maua in a benevolent light. Certainly, this were all part of some design. Perhaps to reshape the lands of Amaryllis, or to quell the chaos non-natives such as he had caused over the years since their initial surgeance? Farrow sighed, and continued on.

While his wives cut back the gnashing teeth of war, Farrow intended on keeping them protected, knowing better than most it was vital he keep their bellies full and their wounds tended.

He'd almost been far too distracted with his tracking to notice her cries. But when they came, he stopped almost immediately. The fur on the back of his neck stood to attention, his brows furrowing as he swiftly turned his head in her direction. His direction shifted, his pace hastening as he burst through the half-burned undergrowth until he found her there; broken, razed, as if she'd fallen into the jaws of a wolf and been chewed through.

Just get it over with.

Farrow paused, lingering a few paces away from her to give her the space to breathe. “Astarte?” he breathed, concern glinting in his eyes, “What happened to you?”

@Astarte

The lioness shivered, hearing the footfalls getting closer, she tensed, biting back a whimper as the bite wound, clearly caused by another lion, where the neck met shoulder still dropped crimson blood onto her fur, blending in, leaving it looking sticky. She heard the familiar voice, and she took a shaky breath, she didn't move her head to look at him, only looking at his paws, unable to meet his eyes. @Farrow. She wished to embrace him, but no matter how much she tried to will herself to, she just couldn't. She had no more will .


Farrow...

Her voice was hoarse from crying, roaring, screaming, she didn't know, everything was sore, she knew that much. The lioness winced at his question, " I was in the wrong place. Wrong time.... " Her ears pinned back, wincing as the bite on her cheek was opened enough to bleed again, she spoke once more, " Ran into the wrong male." She swallowed, eyes scanned the trees, fear replacing the dead look she'd had.

_{BG — ART — CODE}

Upon further inspection, he noticed the blood. It was hard to see against the deep crimson of her fur, but the smell of it was thick, nearly tangible. The glistening sheen of half-dried blood under the flittering light from between the trees was strewn all about her shoulder, and her eyes were wide and doeish. Farrow's instinct immediately kicked him, and so badly did he want to scoop her up and usher her to the Brook, where she could be treated under the tender care of Tullia and the other Valour sisters. And he did just that—he rushed forward, and if she would allow, aimed to prop her onto his shoulders, so that she'd have to walk no further.

It appeared the brutal nature of some lions would not be quelled by the weather. And the worst of them had found @Astarte.

“It's okay, Ast,” he breathed, an orange-red eye looking back at her. “You're safe now. I won't let anything touch you.” He'd no idea if these men were in pursuit of her or not, if he would have to face them in battle, or if he'd be able to usher her to the Brook unscathed. But he would do so regardless of the outcome, desperate to get her to safety and away from those that sought to snuff her out.

Astarte deeply wanted to allow him to protect her, to allow him to help her, but the moment she figured out what he was trying to do, she faltered. She'd ran away, she was already in hot water, and she didn't want anyone else to find themselves in the crosshairs of Adalwolf's anger. She shook and leaned her head against Farrows shoulder, she wouldn't bring him or his family down with her.

@Farrow, i can't go with you..

She staggered a bit as she started to stand, her eyes couldn't meet his, " They'll find me, and I can't have you getting hurt. Or your pride. Everything I've heard about the Rikes, they'll not care who's in their way." Her hoarse voice broke every once in awhile, she pressed her face into his mane. " Will you stay with me a little longer .. " Her voice was muffled, she just wanted to feel the comfort of him, for a little while.

_{BG — ART — CODE}

Farrow was so used to being the hero. How bold he was in his youth, scooping up damsels aplenty and ridding them of their tormentors. Age had driven him to more dire contracts, taking up arms against armies and great beasts rather than gnats pestering the whims of the fairer sex. But even now, he found himself leaping to the defense of Talisa, joining arms alongside Morrigan (who was more than capable of handling her own, Farrow quickly found out), and felt that same exact pull for @Astarte. Her denial of his help both frustrated and frightened him, and he urged, trying desperately to get her to go. Gods, if it weren't so against Valourian ways, he might have just forced her.

But even he knew that was wrong.

Astarte was a woman capable of making her own choices, even if he disagreed with them greatly. Her utterings about the Rikes was vaguely familiar to him, memories of that day replaying in his head; when their world had come crashing all about them, Nymeria forced into a fight with a brutal stranger and losing the Brook to him, Morrigan and her sister engaged in brutal battle against these very same men—Rike—and the way he and Talisa rushed to get their children to safety. Now they sought to take Astarte. And if left uncontested, they would certainly continue to take, and take, and take.

A paw reached up, and aimed to grab around her back, tugging her as close to him as he physically could. He would linger here forever, if he had to. He did not want to let her slip through his fingers ever again. “I would fight for you—regardless of who the enemy is,” he whispered. But deep down, he knew she was right. Cassandra had vocally voiced her fear of Farrow bringing home enemies, enticing to their doorstep those who would seek their destruction. If these men truly were after Astarte, would they stop simply because they'd reach a pride's borders?

Farrow at least, in this moment, could protect her here and now. He would let nothing touch them.

We

Astarte felt horrible about him finding her, she wished she'd not come here, guilt was eating at her, she shivered as the breeze touched her wound, she'd allowed his paw to snake around her and pull her against him, the lioness buried her face in his chest. His words fell against her ears, causing her to raise a paw on her unharmed side and rest it on his chest. She felt an immense emotion in her chest, was it love? She'd only met him once before, but he'd only ever made her feel safe, only ever gave her warmth that spread from her chest.

Thank you.

The crimson female moved so she wasn't getting blood on his fur, she squeaked out a small apology, for a moment she allowed herself to be 'weak', knowing he would not judge her. If the Rike found her, she'd fight, she'd give it her all, but for now, she just gave in and allowed herself to be held.

_{BG — ART — CODE}

To see her so raw felt as freeing as it felt fettering, relenting to a feeling of guilt and regret that he had not brought her home that first day they'd met. How confident and powerful she had felt that day, how Farrow reveled in her boldness. Now was a woman apologizing for the way her blood smeared into his fur, how her wounds dismantled her steeled appearance, broken and beaten to death by the whims of stranger men. Farrow's jaws clenched, his red-orange eyes peering down at her, fur so deep a crimson and so beautiful it was hard to tell where the trails of her blood thread through her fur like rufescent veins. “No, please,” he begged, attempting to draw her back to him. It were as if she would disappear into the trees if he let her slip free of his hold.

“I don't care about that,” he began again, referencing the way her blood stained onto his fur, and how desperately he wished he bore those wounds instead of her. “I want to know who did this to you. If you won't come with me in safety, then I will seek them out.” And perhaps that way, he could avoid realizing his step-daughter's greatest fear in bringing enemies straight to their doorstep. This way, he could protect @Astarte while protecting that which was also just as precious to him.

Ember colored eyes opened to look up at the male, she allowed him to pull her back, like a wave, she relented to press against his body. Her fear was slowly being replaced, like a cub who's suffered a nightmare and found comfort in their parents warmth, she was pulled into security. His words played against her ears, pictures of battles, him fighting the Rike male, she closed her eyes and wished away the terror.

His name is Adalwolf.

She knew the next time he saw her, she might not be a free woman, so she buried herself in his chest, because right now, she was owned by no one and she'd stay against @Farrow for as long as she could. She'd usher him to leave later, so that when she was taken away, he would not have to fight for her. Or watch what happened to her.

_{BG — ART — CODE}

Adalwolf.

Farrow would remember that name. He did not journey into Amaryllis as much as he once had, but he knew enough of its lions to ask around. It wasn't common of him to find revenge of his own, but the business of it was not new to Farrow. Many times in the past had he been hired for such a reason, by men with the desire to protect what they loved and beheld but without the strength to do so. Their pockets had been far larger than their brute power, and Farrow had been more than happy to assure the safety of something or someone, ensuring their happy ending, while getting paid to do it.

This was different. This felt different.

Even as the fires raged all around them once more, growing closer now than they had in their first encounter, Farrow would not leave her. He would relocate them as necessary to avoid the flames, trying each time desperately to get her to the Brook, to the closest spot he could think possible, but with each rejection he'd be resigned to keeping her there, protecting her, bandaging her wounds as best he could (but it was never good enough, for Farrow was never a good medic), and tending to her in these brutal hours while they witnessed the destruction of the world around them.

exit w @Astarte