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They Ran.

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They were running. Swirls of gold and green, grey and earth. The forest existed, in all its complex serenity, for them. Soundless they moved, trees the pillars of their palace, pine the soft carpet underfoot. It knew them. Knew the feather-light press of feet that left barely a trace, and knew the steady heartbeat of four, the rustle of paws swift and sure.


They ran until they stopped. An image of perfection, from motion to still - a seamless transition. Not a golden hair out of place, standing tall and fair, under bark and bough. Tendrils of cold light reaching down, skin diamond, eyes gold. 


As light has dark, shadow skids pine-needles scattering under paw. Breath growls between teeth, chest heaves and dark eyes see only her. Besotted. As dark has light, a fundamental truth, she movies closer, glittering fingers bury in shadowy grey fur. They caress a proud nose, up between alit eyes to trace, and, pressing onto toes, a soft ear.




Noble head bows, pressing close. The thump of a single strong heart, thrums between flesh and stone, enough to carry both of them.


The world pauses. One, a breath sharted between them; rosewater and beeswax cool against the forest air. Two, an electricity that has lost its sharp edge, gathering between touches, intoxicating warmth love’s immortal gift. Three, the snap of a twig, the shatter of the moment marked by a heart’s beat. One, two, three, gone.


The doe wouldn’t know what hit it. One misstep would be the fatal mistake, the first domino to fall. The hunt would settle over them, wolf and vampire, would lead them deeper, further in, closer to the fluttering weak sound of a mindless creature’s heart. Nothing in comparison to them. They would feast on it, and sate themselves together, never more than a stride between them. 


Together, they would run.