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[bardische]

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[bardische]

[ Basch is a little embarrassed too, but only from shyness, and the sudden almost-public nature of their attachment. But the church is mostly empty, and there is no difficulty -- relaxed and clean -- heading back to Olivine's room hand-in-hand.

His heart picks up a little as they shut the door and disrobe again, turning down the bed. Soon They're snuggled in together, Olivine back in Basch's arms, and he sighs against the other. ]

It doesn't feel like it should be this easy.

[massochism]

I understand what you mean.

[albeit for... very different reasons, he knows. his voice is just slightly muffled against Basch's chest, head tilted up enough to watch him quietly as he does.]

But I'm glad anyway... it feels nice to even get this chance.

[bardische]

[ It does feel nice to even get this chance.

The rest of the month passes in a blur. Basch is plenty busy getting used to this place, starting to map out the church and the town for areas of potential concern, learning Olivine's routines, and -- most surreal -- spending most evenings in each other's company.

But he keeps an eye on the progression of the moon. Even before he feels his blood start to stir, he says his temporary goodbye, arranging with Olivine to leave him clothes outside of town and to return as soon as he can.

It...hurts. More than he expected to. And privately, he thinks maybe it would be nice to find a way to safely stay. He just isn't sure he believes there is one.

The transformation hurts too. Without Olivine's magic to soothe it, his limbs twist sharply, and his body aches. But he remembers, this time, in a way he hasn't before, that there's something he wants, more than just hunting and sleeping and evading men, and for reasons he doesn't quite understand, he's careful not to leave tracks or take livestock from farmers. ]

[massochism]

[It's really too soon when they're seeing their temporary goodbyes, in Olivine's opinion. He says nothing of it, of course, refuses to press against Basch's reasonable discomfort at staying near—but he still thinks it when the church is quiet and he returns to bed alone.

Imagining the day of return helps a little, at least—even if it sees him in a particularly urgent state practically nightly. It's another relief not to hear of unusual tracks or unexpected losses... but he does worry about the blond anyway.

His distraction is forcibly set aside by monsters and essence-crazed animals making a return—not wholly unexpected, but not the best timing either. Naturally he volunteers to go take care of it, reminding citizens to remain in the city by dusk. The wooded area is easy to traverse, but he finds himself in a little deeper than usual.

Almost like the creatures are... wary? Something like it. Detritus crunches beneath his feet as his pursuit takes him further afield, clothing... slightly damaged from repeated efforts. Olivine himself isn't terribly hurt though—there's a scratch here and there but his clothing has taken the brunt of it.]

[bardische]

[ It's the smell that gets him. It shouldn't be here, and the moment he gets whiff of it, he's single-mindedly stalking it. Not for the hunt; Olivine should not be here, and gods help anything that tries to cross his path.

That's as much as his wolf brain can manage. His efforts to remain unseen are forgotten, and the essence-crazed animals or monsters who cross his path are dealt with swiftly and bloodily.

When he finally catches up to the other, his nostrils flare, protective rage searing through him. There's blood. Olivine's blood.

He bounds through the underbrush, a growling yip his only warning, and tackles Olivine to the ground, snout immediately searching the other for serious wound, large weight pinning him on his back. If he tries to move, Basch growls lowly, continuing to press his nose to every inch of Olivine's body in search of damage. ]

[massochism]

[He very nearly retaliates against the noise, turning to find its source as the werewolf leaps onto him. There's a shimmer of something, a buffer between himself and the ground, that cushions the fall.

It takes a moment to register what's happening, though. His first thought is to move, growl giving him pause enough to stop trying. Where did he even come from??? Still, the other's form is unusual and familiar, to say the least.]

Basch— [He's doing his best to keep his voice even, at least, reaching to stroke through long fur.] I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about.

[granted, the position and sensation of his nose against delicate skin has his mind wandering a little, his usual milky scent growing stronger with each passing moment. It's funny, how much he'd missed him in such a short time...]

[bardische]

[ The sound of his name turns his growl to a whine. He isn't delicate about where he searches, his pupils dilating at the increase in scent.

But, satisfied in his search, he settles his weight on the other's chest, licking against his jaw and leaning into the hands against him. His tail thumps lightly, ears back as he whines again. ]

[massochism]

[warm hands continue their gentle stroking, a little laugh escaping as the werewolf's weight settles on him. it puts a little pressure on his piercings, equally pleasant against the lap of a tongue against his jaw.]

There... see? Nothing to worry about. Just doing my job.

[there's a rustle somewhere else, too far for Olivine's human ears to hear it for now. it certainly sounds big though, plodding along toward them. he will shortly though, as the low rumble following each step becomes more audible.]

[bardische]

[ Basch’s ears, however, shoot up, a growl back in his throat as his head whips toward the disturbance, nose up to the air for the scent.

And then he’s off Olivine, hackles up and tail bottlebrushed, snarling with every tooth bared, angling toward the scent of the encroaching monster.

And the moment it enters the clearing, he lunges, aiming for throat. This monster is fast though, and instead he lands on arm, growing as he clamps down, blood under his teeth.

But the monster is strong, and it manages to throw him down, a claw lightly grazing his side and pulling bright blood onto his fur. ]

[massochism]

Wait—

[the other moves and Olivine is quick to recover in turn, pushing himself up to follow. most of the creatures here aren't so bad, especially for something Basch's wolf size, but he can't help worrying anyway.

thankfully, that worry at least has him up and ready when the other lunges, gathering essence in hand to use as soon as he's sure of what's needed. that turns out to be more defensive than not, though he's too late to prevent the injury altogether. the warmth of his magic hasn't changed at all, though it forms a protective barrier rather than healing him immediately.

he's trying not to panic at the sight of blood soaking light fur, knows that the other is strong enough to have gotten along without him before, but...]

Don't rush...

[it's at least partly for himself, because if he rushes then they could both get seriously injured. at least the creature isn't much bigger than Basch, just fast and vicious—fairly standard for Olivine, but probably new to the werewolf.]

[bardische]

[ His thoughts are narrow and hazy, single-minded to protecting his mate. But some piece of Olivine’s voice penetrates. Basch rights himself and stands his ground, shaking blood and dirt from his fur as he continues to snarl. The magic around him is as familiar as the voice. It’s calming, but it also makes him that much more determined to protect what is his.

He stalks, slowly, drawing the attention of the creature. He never would have rushed in if he were even marginally in his right mind. Even as a calm wolf, he’d have been more strategic. But now he snarls, watches, dares it to try to get a step closer to Olivine. ]

[massochism]

[there's the smallest exhale of relief as Basch settles even that little bit, and he watches the monster now. almost ironically, he's more suited to support than attack—though he's clearly no slouch in that department either. for now then, his focus shifts to healing the other's wounds, gaze flicking to the creature as he does.

God, but he wishes he could speak to him directly. sure, the werewolf seems to understand him, but he can't define exactly what happened to this point, or what he needs, or... anything like it. the only truly clear thing is how protective he is, waiting for movement.

which does happen eventually. Olivine presents a much more convenient-seeming target, and it had already batted Basch away once, so perhaps that makes it bolder still. there's not much in the way of time to move, then, though he's pretty sure he'll be able to dodge at least one or two hits to save the other some worry.]

[bardische]

[ The magic is soothing. His wounds were honestly not bad, but the familiar feeling of Olivine's magic after the empty, lonely hole he's felt as a wolf but hasn't understood is like water quenching dehydration.

But it only makes him that much more determined to protect.

The monster lunges, and Basch is on it, using his body weight to slam into the other. It gets a light swipe at Olivine as its sent staggering.

Basch presses his advantage, slamming into its other leg before tackling it by the chest. Where he'd been somewhat gentle with Olivine, now his all teeth and claw. If he were human, he would have anticipated that being entangled with this monster would make Olivine's magic harder to target. But he's not thinking strategically. He just wants this thing down and dead, and it's doing its best to do the same to him. ]

[massochism]

[it's definitely made harder by the positioning, plus the fact that Olivine isn't entirely used to working with others. but for right now, he's just shifting his intentions to bolstering Basch—soothing wounds, and drawing up a sort of protective "coating" when he can. the magic feels weaker than he likes, he thinks, but he's been using it for a while so it's not that surprising...

the thing can't escape him, and hopefully can't hurt him enough to risk him dying, and so the priest just has to trust that his wolf will win this. it's an uncertainty that twists terribly in his gut, even trusting him as he does.]

[bardische]

[ That magic bolsters him, and so does the smell of Olivine's worry. Not panic, but enough distress to make him downright feral.

He gains the upper hand, and the moment he has a clear shot, he sinks his teeth in...ripping out the monster's throat. It's a messy business, terrible sounds, blood spattering on his fur. He holds down while it thrashes. Claws catch him, but he holds fast.

And then, nothing. Just his own panting. ]

[massochism]

[The whole thing is far more visceral in this moment, the guttural noises and the struggle of the creature as it dies. It's true enough that Olivine is also used to the idea of it, but there's still a part of him that flinches away from this side of it all.

Maybe it's more to do with a sense that he... well, didn't cause this, but certainly acted as part of the catalyst. The splattering of blood, the awful rip of flesh, all without reverence in the least. It's all necessity, until everything quiets and there's just the sound of panting breaths.

Finally, he manages to make his body move, fully intending to look Basch over and heal any injuries.]

... thank you...

[quiet. Concerned. Olivine could have handled the creature, but he's grateful for the help even if it caused more injuries to the werewolf.]

[bardische]

[ Danger passed, his mind starts to calm. But now he's aware of...at the very least being dirty. Something like shame hazes his vision, and the desire to curl up with Olivine wars with the desire to bolt.

He whines, leaving the messy carcass, and goes to roll in the grass, trying to get the worst of it off himself. Cuts and muscles ache, but its nothing terrible.

And when he's as done as he can, he rolls back all fours, lying his head down low, ears back and wagging his tail, another whine in his throat. Submissive and docile.

It's Olivine's choice if he still wants to approach. That's what Basch can give him. ]

[massochism]

[giving the other the time to clean up as he can, Olivine takes a moment to also sort his own thoughts. He's always felt a little hypocritical, being more negatively affected by this than pain to himself—even if it does make sense enough.

But those thoughts leave him as Basch whines again, and he can't help but smile as he approaches, sitting down with him and reaching to rub the base of his ears. He doesn't speak yet, just working to ease the ache of muscle and torn flesh, pale hands stained red when they draw downward to help him clean up without hesitation.

He's alright... he's alright. Safe. That's enough for Olivine.]

[bardische]

[ His tongue lolls, eyes falling half-lidded as Olivine scratches the base of his ears. The only reason he doesn’t roll on his side is those hands continuing to search him.

They come away with blood. Basch whines again, licking at the mess.

Called, his thoughts are a little clearer. Relief. Sadness. Worry. Affection. He aches to curl around his human, to hold him, to go home to their nest. ]

[massochism]

It's alright.

[the words are spoken soothingly as Basch licks at the mess, pausing just briefly. it's a risk, sure, but... if he's honest, Olivine just wants him back. wolf or not, dangerous or not, being without him had been hard.]

Will you come back with me? [there's no pressure to the question, and no pause in his caring for the werewolf. it's the same as every other offer he's made—earnest, welcoming, but never presumptive.] We can get you washed up first, of course. I just... don't like the idea of you having to be out here alone.

[bardische]

[ Calming under the other’s presence, he understands the speech a little better. He whines again, tail wagging as he butts against Olivine’s hand.

Human him would object. Wolf him is not about to let his precious mate out of his watch.

That and even his wolf heart feels lighter. It was a myth that wolves were solitary. He could manage, but now that he had tasted not being alone, it was much harder to elect back to it. That was something he’d have to confront when his mind fully returned. ]

[massochism]

[it provides a deep sense of relief, the way he butts against Olivine's hand. sure, they'll probably have to talk about it more directly when this ends, but... for now, this is all he needs.

warm fingers press to the base of his ears, scritching fondly before he's shifting to move.]

This way, then. We should be safe to get to the water now.

[and after that... after that, he'll just have to calm any villagers who are worried about a wolf following him back home. most of them shouldn't be, if anyone is even out.]

[bardische]

[ He barks lightly in affirmation, pushing back on his haunches and rising with Olivine. He's large, larger than a wolf should be and he stays close, such that Olivine's hand natural falls against his head or back. It's as much for his own desire to be close as it is for the lingering sense of protection.

His thoughts continue to feel clearer, like Olivine's presence is reminding him of his humanity. They absolutely should not be seen covered in blood. That much he's sure of.

And he has a hazy memory of being in the water with Olivine being safe and pleasant.

When they reach it, he'll wait for Olivine to enter with him, but he'll be willing to submerge himself and be washed, assisting Olivine by licking and headbutting, for all the world a docile pup. ]

[massochism]

[His hand continues its gentle movements when it comes to rest against Basch's head and back, an idle familiarity and reassurance both for him. It's really something he didn't realise he needed so badly.

Once they reach the water though, he'll take a moment to remove his top—the pants are thick enough to remain covering even when wet, but the rest? Better not to risk it. For Basch's comfort, it'll also confirm that the worst marks Olivine bears are little pink slivers, no worse than catching himself on a branch.

Once they're submerged, Olivine works in earnest, actions simple and sure. It's not hard to guess that he's bathed other animals before—and probably not surprising, given his nature. But right now all his attention is on the docile pup of a wolf with him, laughing softly when he headbutts or licks. And really, the other ever thought he would be a danger to Olivine...]

Alright... I think that's good.

[There's still a faint metal tinge to the air, but no more colour or remnant clings to sandy fur. The priest has already appeased his own worries in the effort of cleaning, too—no major wounds remain amid all the fur, and he doesn't flinch from any touches. Hands move to rub the space from brows to ears, thumbs massaging as he goes.]

Let's get dried off and head home.

[bardische]

[ He does, in fact, resume his inspection of Olivine, tongue tracing any scratches to be sure, but he's calmed significantly that the other is fine.

And he's absolutely undignified at the other scratches and pets through his fur. It's...heavenly. He's never been pet before, not as a wolf, and now that he's relaxed, his tongue lolls and his tail wags, encouraged by Olivine's laughs.

He's almost sorry its over, but the promise of home makes him quick to escort the other out of the water, never getting too far until they're on land. He only moves away so he can shake his fur without catching Olivine too badly.

He'll stick close to the other's side, noise and ears alert for danger, but his gait and posture are light and happy, ears perked, and he'll periodically look up at Olivine with a doggish grin. ]