❝bare your teeth, little one, for you are made of stardust and divinity.❞
It is said, in the era before the mother of our mothers, when the ancients first built their ruins, we were not alone in this world. Creatures flitted through the skies above...
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Sparks floated through the air, glinting like fallen stars before Tip's nose, as the sweet scent of smoke and pine mixed together in his lungs.
It was mid-season—when the weather reached its most extreme—and the oppressive heat of the day had yet to fully disperse beneath the cool breath of night. As such, those places nearest the fire—so coveted and hoarded within the colder seasons—had been left abandoned and barren. It made it an ideal spot to chart stars, though Tip had to be mindful of the fire, lest the gluttonous flames consume the parchment.
It was not that Tip was immune to the heat—the opposite, in fact. Tip's fur was much thicker than anyone else's within his herd, made to withstand the bitter bite of the worst northern storms, but doing little to ward off the effects of a particularly hot day. Despite this susceptibility, Tip still found himself sitting near the fire most nights of the warmer seasons. Charting stars required a not insignificant amount of space and Tip was determined not to get underfoot and make a menace of himself.
Jin and Ituha were less so inclined.
"Ancestors, Tip, how can you bear to sit here?" Jin whined as she settled beside him.
Her scent was laced with the salt smell of sweat. Her forehead was decorated with beads of moisture that caught the light of the fire and glittered like small crystals. Her hair—typically resting in twinned braids around her shoulders—had been pulled into a twisting bun. What strands had managed to escape, stuck to the nape of her neck, soaked and curling.
Jin rarely wore a top, but she had also removed all of her typical jewelry from the upper half of her body. The only thing that still clung to her body, causing any excess heat, was a set of loose shorts, stitched with dark green and gold thread in the shape of curling vines. Even they seemed liable to be removed at any moment. On days as warm as this one had been, it was more rare to see those with clothing than those without it.
"Aren't you hot?" Jin asked, squinting at him. "Ancestors, I don't think you're sweating at all."
Tip shrugged.
"I don't think I've ever seen Tip sweat," Ituha said as he positioned himself on the other side of Tip.
Ituha smelled of sweat, to an even greater degree than Jin, but it sat more naturally atop his usual scent. Tip could not tell if this was because it was simply more common for Ituha to wear a crown of sweat upon his brows—thus making it easier for Tip's nose to blend the distinct smell of Ituha with the salt that clung to his skin—or if there was something about Ituha that simply paired well with the tang of sweat.
Ituha's skin was not beaded with moisture, though. Rather, he glistened with it. Sweat coated Ituha like oil and, in the light of the fire, his muscles seemed glowing and golden. Tip wondered how far the sweat permeated. He wondered if reached all the way down to the bones. He wondered if he were to sink his teeth into Ituha's skin if it would taste of salt.
