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Running restless
Nobody understood the troll blood. Something genetic, no doubt, that filtered generations of Icelander men. Tristan quivered as human as any other male upon Sierra’s closeness. She was hardly his first female, but certainly the first since his eyes cast their gold discs. Everything was different, this time. It was like he was enchanted, so drawn in by the frame of her beaming eyes as he was. Her scent flowered warmth in a frozen tundra, and a flush to her cheeks burned hot with blood aroused. Intoxicating.

He wrapped arms snug about her back and lifted her from her toes. Hunger devoured the woman like they had previously smeared the meat of the pack’s fresh kill upon their lips. His grip quickly pinched. His teeth smacking bites upon her lower lip before nuzzling down the line of her neck. If the trollstone watched, he was sure to gauge out his eyes.
"Don’t waste your time looking back, you’re not going that way."
Rognar Lothbrok
Passion was something she'd witnessed before, but had never relished in. People were not that easy to get to know. There were no boys to crush upon. No girls to get to know. There was nothing but her brother and her mother and her father until the door hissed open to explore the world above. And they had never ventured into town much to meet with other kids. There was no normal interactions even after that - the wolves had come to her and she'd taken up their friendships. Tristan smelled like home, like safety, like pack. He was pack and Sierra growled softly as he nuzzled her neck. It was a sound she hadn't thought to come from her mouth.

Her hand pushed under the clothes Tristan wore. Skin contact was electric. Sierra was swept up in everything. The taste of Tristan. The feel of his body, his hands, his mouth - lost in the passion of their shared dream.
Fire coursed beneath Sierra’s nails. The fling of hair. The pearl of teeth. Her skin roamed pale as the moon between flashes of gold eyes. Their dream moved around them like water changing course around the rocky riverbed. The basalt column and simple hillside fell away. Replaced with the rim of a dormant volcano. He pulled Sierra low, then soft sands cushioned his back. Water lapped their feet before it shifted again. Rushing waterfalls drowned the sound of his gasps one moment, then a carpet of plush grass rolled the next. His thoughts coursed the world, and with them, they were carried. The howls of other watchers drenched their ears, but a sharp glance beheld no witnesses.

A low rumble and Tristan pushed her aside. Sierra was more alive than ever before, and it was all he could do to not rip her clothes from her skin. Her just looked at her a minute, and wondered if at one point in their trip around the world if they actually became wolves for a moment.

He grinned at her tousled hair and angry red flush to her lips. “We should probably wake up.”  
"Don’t waste your time looking back, you’re not going that way."
Rognar Lothbrok
The whole time since meeting Tristan felt surreal. A wolf pup, yet not a pup. A man and a wolf and Sierra was drawn to him - to pack. Something called. The walking world wouldn't take then around the world in a blink. But Sierra didn't really pay much attention to the sights only the sounds that pushed her over the edge.

It wasn't the real world, but it felt more. And despite the knowledge that she knew Tristan was right, she didn't want to wake. The wolves would be up and rousing by now. She only nodded and parted ways with a kiss.

Sierra awoke with a gasp of air like she'd been drowning in the ice cold water. It was just reality bending its harsh reality on her. Still in Tristan's arms for the night, Sierra curled down against him, hoping he'd not move and ruin the warmth of their shared space.

[[ occ: we can move to a real world thread and deal with the nym, not that there is much other than excitement about seeing an old one again. Or we can move on wherever you want to go with Tristan's plot. Sierra's here to take pictures and that doesn't take long since she's so close. ]]

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