Madara's strong legs carried him, even when his mind would not, could not, direct the limbs on how to act. The running speed would kill him if he ran into a trunk or missed a branch during his strategic regroup, but survival was the key. And to survive, he needed space to assess and recover, strategize and retaliate. Therefore, he needed acceleration. It was logical, it was sound, nevertheless, it was irresponsible. And he was many things: man, beast, leader, brother, warrior, prodigy, powerhouse. To be those things in balance, in harmony, the one thing he could not be is reckless.
And yet, he was running away, failure after failure, leading the enemy away from his squadron while attempting to preserve his own life, heedlessly.
The great families of powerful shapeshifters struggled these days, the human settlements taking what they perceive to be open land and encroaching past the historically maintained invisible line. Diminishing the necessary territories for procreation and hunting, for their lives and livelihood. Like ink bleeding on the page, it happened gradually, stealthy. Until the time came when the culmination broke past the point of acceptability and into insult and uninspiring, simple humans inadvertently declared war.
A collaboration was called between all the shapeshifters, led by the infamous and supreme wild cat clans, to fight back against the invaders. His clan and their sister clan worked in tandem as the frontal force, with the support of the auxiliary clans. And for a while, they were able to push back against the numbers of the madly breeding humans without resistance or substantial loss. They rolled over the defenseless bipeds with conceitedness, celebrating their greatness, believing it to be their own power and skill for the total domination.
Tonight, this was the first time the beasts of the lands experienced the adaptive power of humans. Polluted air, poisoned weapons, fire that burned everything lush and green, to be desolated for all. Self-preservation moot, mutual annihilation their only focus. They fought with ferocity, entire units suicidally attacking one beastly target to wear them down, one cut at a time. Then the incendiary corpses would activate on a timer, weaponized to maximize impact. If a human survived to the end, fighting while the remainder of their cell was down, they too would detonate, a martyr to the cause. They sacrificed dozens, hundreds, to take down one of their own. It was the most grotesque display, and the effectiveness was horrific.
But more than the devastating frontal assault, they had curses carved in the trees and stones, in their very bones, a power previously believed to only reside with the creatures of myth, his people. Madara felt like laughing at that, for their own foolishness. His own clan's history mocked the humans as having forgotten the way of the wilds, losing their shapeshifting and the greatest gift on this plane of existence. Written on their own tablets, the facts were there. They, no HE, should have anticipated the possibilities.
He smelled the air, his nose's prowess impaired by the ash and fire and poison, but still, he could scent the brine and minerals in the air to direct him towards the sea. His pursuers were lagging at greater distances for every moment he tree-walked at his dizzying speed. Madara was a pride male, not for his good looks, which he had in generous quantities, but his complete totalities in ruining attack and cataclysmic counterattack. And when he arrived at his mind-eye's location, he would unleash a power beyond the humans reckoning. That goal gave him energy and power, for he was a naturally driven person, and goals gave him greater purpose.
He allowed his claws to extend past the natural point to produce deeper ridges in the branches, intending to make a last burst of speed to increase his preparation time. It was uncomfortable, jarring even, one talon that was weakened in battle stayed embedded in the passing tree. But he could hear the effect of splintering wood and knew that it would be noticeable to the right type of tracker.
When the tree line thinned, Madara made even greater leaps, his speed being substituted for power, before he landed in the soft sand of his last stand of this battle or the great start to this war. His blood was thick with poison, and he felt it in his heart and eyes, causing delays in the flow of his inner energies. No matter, he was unhindered while he moved. Sand was a perfect medium for these types of spells, it would keep the secrets of his ancestors should he fail this night. And since it was a spell realized through intent the written formulation needed less intricacy.
Eventually, he abandoned his beast visage and became bipedal. It meant less physical grace but more dexterity. Plus, his hairless earth born form was fresh, the transformation gave him more than it took. By the time his human ears picked up the sounds on an incoming army, Madara had written out enough of his spell to envelope a thousand square meters of space. The moon, a sliver of hope with it's frail and beautiful white light, was a few nights out of the new moon. He would find absolute cover if he merely turned back into his beast form, but he would do that when it was the most valuable.
One, two, ten, twenty, a hundred. The humans came onto the beach with all the suddenness this night demonstrated they possessed. They advanced towards him, a kaleidoscope of emotions and waning confidence washing across their faces with each gaining step. When the distance between the front line and Madara was under thirty meters, they paused to develop their lines. There was a distinction between these humans and the others, the ones that rolled over without resistance early in the skirmishes. These humans here looked like aged skin with the history of the beating whip written in pale scars, cross hatching into apathy to their current situation. These were the warriors of their species.
Madara felt a moment of kindredness for some before him, it seemed many did not want the be here, now, fighting. Even more faces read that they knew it was their brethren's fault that this started, resigned to be the blood tithe to end the feud. But it changed nothing. Pity was an insult to true fighters, and Madara would demolish every miserable soul to ash and dust, much like they did to the forests, without any dallying moral concern.
And when the order call for charge occurred, Madara did as he planned and ran for the water line, transforming as easy as blinking. He could hear the cries of battle tailing him as he felt his spell galvanize, electrical current charging into every written line, the last step before detonation. He would show them what real fire was, what image true devastation projected.
But then, recklessness. Damn him for it, he did it again. He allowed his body to react in preservation and dodged a spear aimed at his back. It was nothing, a spear was the same as a splinter for him, should it have pierced him through the head, heart, or stomach. It would have done nothing fatal for he was beyond such a thing in consideration to their skills. When it hit the ground paces in front of him, he could see the error instantly. And written in clear, shining letters, an enclosure curse, essentially creating a wall stopping him from moving forward past the point of the blades piercing mark. The curse was weak, temporary, delaying. Delaying enough that Madara would lose vital ground to put the explosion safely behind him, the cascade already triggered from the two points of the beach furthest from Madara's hindquarters.
His peripheral was blinking boldly, orange and red reaching licking arms to the inky dark sky. Enough heat that the moisture of his eyes evaporated. His ears were ringing in response to the percussive boom-boom-boom. The time to slow his movements, to unwind the curse, to resume running. Precious seconds lost and paid for by the sudden burning of his tail, hind legs, his back. And then forceful propelling of his entire body. Launched on a path perpendicular to the ocean for so long, Madara marveled at his own spells power even as he suffered the effects of it.
When he hit the glassy surface, Madara bounced like a skipped stone, matching the imagined rock's metal capacity in comedic comradery from the rough jostling. Sinking under the watery blanket when his velocity determined it was okay to give him a break. His awareness was twinkling. Body jerking to swim when the consciousness was bright then sinking when it dimmed. If Madara were the type to have regrets, it would be that he defeated himself in stupidity, but this would not be his end and the mistake would go to the grave with those men on the beach.
It was with that reassurance he found enough jumbled resources within his body to knot it up and make one cohesive, decisive action. Swim with the bubbles, easy enough. There was a thought to return to his human form now, use the strength of the arms and legs, the buoyancy of fat and less bulk, but it forgotten the moment he breached for air. Survival pushed him, he sniffed and smelt and directed himself to what his eyes could not see. On landfall, he felt that the final bit of reserves gave way to poison, pain, and exhaustion.
For the remainder of the night and a portion of the morning, Madara languished. The coast he occupied was clearly not the one he left, the smell of fire and smoke was too faint. No, this area was filled with windblown trees, overheated sandy ozone, pollinating hibiscus blooms, and rotting kelp. Nature preserved and unmarred by humans. It also carried a strongly alluring scent, fishy at the base, lime and coconut as well, but there was the undertone of musky sun kissed skin and star jasmine. So perhaps a little marred by humans, but not colonized.
He made minimal progression at every waking, snail crawling his way to the area that had the most potent concentration of that tempting fragrance. But progress was made, and by the next evening he had settled into a cave. It wasn't lived in, but had the sense of occupation. If he had the energy, he would explore more, pick apart the obviously placed rocks to look at the hidden treasures beneath. Another time, another goal. First, he would bury himself in the sand and focus on recovery.
And scold himself for his hubris, his shortsightedness. Madara and all moldable beasts only needed to concern themselves with cursed weapons, enlightened humans, complete dismemberment, magical attacks, and other shapeshifters. That sounds like a great many things, but realistically, it was extraordinarily scarce for any one of those to occur. And for him, you needed all those things in combination. Even with the assault of this evening, a half thousand human lives were exchanged for a half dozen shapeshifters.
He knew the humans in their grand numbers couldn't realistically hurt him in beast mode on that beach. Their knives and swords would produce cuts he was capable of healing. And with the open water, humans couldn't utilize the poison air, their best weapon to counter his best weapon. In that position, he had nothing to fear. But he acted on the idea that he need not be inconvenienced by a prick and was out maneuvered. Madara chose to make an example, casting a large spell for the demonstration, and look what it cost him. The humans brought everything they possessed, and then allowed Madara to bring the missing element of shapeshifter magic into the fight, his defeat was bitter. Mutual destruction, the devils.
Disgruntled with his thinking, Madara cleaned himself with low, unmotivated efforts and then experienced an amount of dissatisfying sleep, a befitting punishment. All of this, what he deserved for failing in his duty.
When he woke it was to receive an unexpected gift. A lovely, delicious, amazing smell of warming fish. Madara tended to be fully awake when he did regain consciousness, but right now he was amped past his norm. He could ignore each ache as he felt elated to sample the redolent aroma. Madara opened his throat and curled back his upper lip exposing the row of dangerous front teeth, inhaling with his nostril slits sealed shut. Drinking the air with a desperate hunger. He had seen the sun come and go three times since laying under the sheltered sand. Water came as conveniently to him as he could hope, food, not so much. Not so much, until now.
Madara examined the area, beastly eyes wide, pupils blown. The lapping tide caused a ripple in the dark pool, but there was no other movement. Seemed unlikely that he would see fish out of water, but the scent was not subdued by the water, nor did it become diluted through time. It was a full bouquet, teasing his empty stomach and encouraging him to act. The presence had to be in the cave, and there was only one spot to hide. A small bounder, sitting low on the land where sand gave way to solid rock, half-in, half-out of the sea, with less than a meter of clearance between it and the wall.
When he had first entered this cave he felt the sense of controlled busyness Madara had assumed that he would encounter the occupier at some point, but that occupier would be a fisher or foraging clammer with a preference for growing jasmine at their home. That the odor he followed was strong because this cave was used as a staging area for cleaning the catch. And that little human thing would run at the sight of his large, dark, creatures form, hopefully dropping a snack in deference.
During his wakeful moments, seeking drink, Madara observed that this cenote was dissimilar to the ones he had discovered inland. Although the cave was open to the environment, that appeared to be unintentional, environmental, an inconsequential remark. But the vines reaching up on slick walls, the herbs growing in sunless areas, the lack of debris, this area was cared and cultivated by a touch outside the basic capabilities of the forgetful bipeds. No, the person who came here would classify as one with higher intelligence.
Then, most recently, as he gained antsy energy from being immobile, he saw this glimmering aura in the air. Lines of gossamer shining in a rainbow phantasmagoria. He could not focus on it, could not keenly understand it, but when he relaxed his eyes and saw past the focal point, he was rewarded with a beautiful array for his aimless sight. That was when he decided this was the hidden retreat of something unnatural, something closer to his kind. A gnome, perhaps?
Behind that rock, was something more than human, but still, with how he hungered, it may very well be his next meal. He could not regard potential kinship with a magical being when it could be the difference of his life or his death. With his recovery being slow, due to cursed poison rushing through his veins and the uncleaned supernaturally burnt flesh contaminated by fur and sand, stealth strikes were out. But there was no need to even try, one great push and he could leap the distance and thread the needle to pounce with his front paws, crushing the hidden critter.
Madara lifted himself with silent magnificent grace, predatory and positively frothing. No sound could be heard, not even the falling sand as it returned to the ground. He still couldn't hear any identifying movement by the rock, but his sharp ears distinguished a slight difference from the target area. The gentle sloshing against the coast from now and yesterday had a variance that reconfirmed what his nose was telling him. The possibilities of what strange thing he would find gave him an adrenaline rush, he was excited to discover the fearless mouse that knew enough to hide, but not enough to avoid him entirely. The same mouse who got past his senses, denoting some greater skills.
Smelled like food, felt like power, a challenge. How could he resist. The launch had less poise than he was accustomed to, but serviceable and accurate. The jump had a low arch to accommodate the ceiling and preserve the element of surprise, but it had the addition of delaying the reveal for him until the very last moment. A what a surprise it was.
A delicate and feminine figure wrapped in holographic prismatic scales with a head of coral pink hair was laying belly down, hiding where he had been aiming. Her cry when one of his paws landed near her waist had a beguiling, willowy quality, reminding him of his favorite place at home, where the wind produced a whistle in the branches. The landing was more awkward than he intended, mostly because he had thought he would crush the prey with claws, paws, and teeth, all the way until the millisecond before he was actually going to crush her.
Instead, one paw to cage her against the rock, one paw on the boulder, and his body oriented in opposition of hers so that they could be face to face. Prime investigation stance! From above to the birds eye, they must be an odd strike of fish tail, quarter human, quarter cat, and quarter raw flesh.
The little fish thing with the scrumptious smell finally knew to be scared, her trembling becoming nearly violent with how hard she shook. But that scent, oh the scent, amped up in fragrance and was so much sweeter and persuasive. Cute survival technique, he wondered if he was compelled to spare her or if he just decided that because he didn't want to eat another great magical creature, as that is what he knew she was now that he had eyes on her. (Any small magical creature would have been devoured in one bite, without question.)
The dulcet dessert was curling into herself, arms hugging her head and he invaded her space for sampling. He scented her with his mouth, practically purring with satisfaction. Since he had decided not to eat this delicacy, he gave up the intimidating energy and waited for her to calm., curious of what he would discover on the other side of it's body. He kept close and waited, his one paw remaining in cage form, and breathed her in to his delight, feeling fuller for every inhale.
At length, she found her courage to look him in the eye through the veil of her hair. Pitifully uneducated about the disastrous effects looking his kind in the eyes could have, he enjoyed the rare eye contact from a non-familiar member. Her eyes were wide, pupils so small that he could see the spots of white and yellow in the sea glass green of her eyes. When she found him neutral and nonthreatening to her, she gained the courage to fully lift her body and face for her time to absorb his image. He was much too weak to carelessly utilize the ritual power within his blood, yet it automatically activated in a bid to memorize her stunning face and complementary aesthetic.
The pieces of her would surely summarize into a beauty, that much was obvious, yet he was unprepared. She had porcelain pale skin with a lavender hue and pearl like glow, like his treasured, lustrous moon. Shining doll eyes, bright and vibrant green, in perfect contrast to the pink of her satiny hair. Full and delicious lips, a slender neck, precious button nose. She was a majestic, pastel thing to behold. And the smell, that amazing aroma. This magical thing was made to be a vision of perfection, to bewitch and subdue, that was obvious. Since her birth, and the birth of most shapeshifter, their looks were destined to be a prime example of all things preferred, but the shining quality that made her appear ethereal, angelic, that was all her and her untamed magic.
But he would not be tempted or entrapped by this siren. Well, tempted much. Especially at a time like this, where he hadn't eaten in too many days. He is reminded again about his own stupidity, allowing himself to be harmed by his own explosion and losing every one of his specialized supplies. Being fitted to a pack that was useful in both his beast and man form was a pain, but valuable. What he would give to have that pack now.
They were at a standstill, examining each other top to bottom. But Madara, while he appreciated that she was lovely, was tired. And in beast form, he had no way of communicating with her unless she miraculously understood the growls, chirps, and rowels this form was capable of producing. Therefore, he had no way of asking her to bring him food. Because of that, and the fact that she was an nonthreatening balm by her simple presence, he laid down and allowed himself to drift, absorbing her while giving into the frailness his body felt.
He felt her slink away, returning to the water with no sound, cluing him as to how she was able to sneak past him. He considered moving now that she was gone, the air within pockets of sand preserved the smell better and was warm and comfy, but the spot she laid in was rich with her presence and this time around he didn't mind laying on the hard rock for his nap time. He drifted in and out, snoozing during the hottest part of the day with instinctual need. She was a silent, but busy thing and the surroundings adjusted to her presence in a way that was obvious once he knew how to look for it. Quickly, his senses became attuned to her as she came and went, then deleted her as a notable risk to endorse quality sleep.
Intermittently, she dropped off gifts for him, trying to determine his fancy. Offerings of slithery grass, kelp with complementary farty pods, branches of jasmine was delivered, and that was only what he was motivated enough to open his eyes too inspect, the rest smelled like nothing he would ever bother with. Then, finally, something of value, he smelt clams and salivated in joy. He wasted valuable energy becoming excited and was rewarded by disappointment when he gave her his full attention and found no food. Pearls, she delivered him a handful of dichroic pearls, with no clam meat attached. With his eyes opened, he saw that she was elated that he finally reacted to one of her goodies. He thought her face was rather charming with the innocent expression, more so than when she was the idol of celestial perfection, which he was inherently distrustful of.
Apparently, she was waiting for his head to shift out of the way and she slithered her way back into her previous position, squeezing in and forcing him to adjust so that they were back to their meeting position. This too, he found cute. She didn't hesitate with him, her little fingers prodded his face, tracing around his eyes, down his snout, reversing to caress his throat, then cycling back to his ears and continuing on and on, all with goosey confidence. He could feel the energy from her fingers invading his system. It was cool, reminding him of mint leaves, and had no harmful intent, so he allowed her to do as she pleased. Then those little hands were on his paws, and that was less pleasant. He glared in warning when she pressed his pads one to many times trying to extend and retract a claw.
Like a child, she giggled at him for his grumpy response, the sound tickling his gut with its resonant tone. Truly, a clueless thing, not realizing the risk she invited by insulting him thusly. Lucky for her, he was quite taken with her shiny, bulky tail that, currently, had no end. He found her bottom half to be inordinately long, but this was his first encounter with this species, so maybe the length was right. Guessing from the subtle tapering and what he could see faintly moving in the water, it must be at least five meters long, longer than his form too. At every shift, the ambient light reflected off the scales which caused a prism to dance on the walls. The movement was effective in enticing him to be, for a lack of a more appropriate term, frisky. He was hit with a need to bat at the lights dancing on the wall. And since that was silly, and he was not a being prone to ridiculousness, he wanted to return to his furless form to douse the oncoming playfulness innate to this form… and properly investigate her and her tail with his more receptive human hands.
She looped her arms around his neck, playfully hanging as he deeply thought. Her presence here proposed an issue, could he return to his other form? This slight creature was harmless to him now, but he had no way of knowing how she would react to his man form or how his man form would react to her. Would she drown him, steal his seed, then devour his heart? Or was she the wish granting kind? The forlorn lovesick ones singing for lost partner? Were there such things as innocent ones who's only goal was to collect pearls and stray cats while looking pretty and smelling good? The lore was numerous, but unsubstantiated. Whatever category she occupied, he thought she was one of gentler of her kind, based on her curious exploration.
When she wiggled her bottom half, Madara almost lost it, the disco lights singing to his beast heart to attack the dancing walls. He heard and felt her laugh once more, and a small amount of shame swelled within him knowing she was teasing him, so soon after their acquaintanceship too. Just a bit ago, she was trembling at the sight of him, and while he wanted her to be at ease with him, her fear gave him confidence, control. This was too quick a turnaround. In revenge and a bid for reequilibrium, he turned to his side and gripped her around her scaled middle in a hug and licked her in the biggest sweep he could manage, tucking his head to his chest and then extending as far as his neck could reach without letting up on his monstrous hug.
He thought that she might be bothered by it, but her big eyes just watched him in curiosity. For his part, he thought the scales would taste like fish, just as she smelt. But it was salty and slimy, and his tongue was tingling. Going in for another lick in the same spot, the slime hadn't repopulated, and he got closer to the scales, but it was still salty and still tingly. His third lick, she made a noise, a high pitched 'hum,' and he felt the firm ridges of the scales bouncing under his tongue. Finally, that fish-like taste filled his mouth. In human form, his eyes would have rolled to the back of his head with a moan, here, his eyes dilated in excitement and his chest rumbled. Her tail was utterly delicious. He went in for a fourth lick, and she gave another vocal response, not of pain that he could tell, so he took that as permission. Lick, lick, lick, savoring the mouthwatering... delectable...oh it was such a fine taste, even if he couldn't describe it accurately.
Madara broadened his area, licking away the slime and then going in for the savory taste. Allogrooming was rather common practice in his clan, but he and his brothers had no young and were at an age where licking each other was awkward (unless one of them was sick or injured). This was an opportunity to fulfill that deep seated urge to care and pamper while enjoying his lollipop treat. Her sounds at each lick slowly faded until she became accustomed to his invasion, which he was glad for as he would certainly stop if she did sound hurt.
Licking without pause, he felt his own middle hugged and the fur of his back faintly jostled. Parascoping his view to keep his tongue on her, he saw that she was copying him, licking his dense coat near his meeting scapula with a very normal, human like tongue with normal, human like teeth. She even copied the same chin tuck and long sweep. He had thought when she did open her mouth it would be full of razor sharp teeth and a skinny tongue lure. Instead, she looked like a pretty doll with pretty teeth with an adorably wrinkled nose as her expression registered a baffled distaste. He chuckled a melem-melem-melem at her, amused at the repulsed face she gave in response to the long black hair filling her mouth. He idly kept licking her tail with the long strokes, glancing at her as she carefully picked each follicle from her mouth.
He felt her give up the endeavor at his shoulder blades as she continued exploring his body with her dainty hands. Her tailed pulled up from his hug as she squirmed her way around him, looking touching and sensing with that minty touch. Madara sampled the newly exposed area of her tail and decided that the slime must have medicinal properties. It didn't smell suspicious and he felt fed. Moreover, his blood flow reacted positively the more he ingested. Thinking on it, it was foolish of him to explore her without pause as he could just as easily be discovering that her slime was poisonous. But, well, it was already determined, so no reason to stop.
Except, well, she was a wild card wasn't she. Subverting his expectations. Her touch caused him to jerk so hard he hit his head on the hard rocky floor. The little water nymph had been gripping at protruding bones, and shaking fat rolls, trying different angles to hug him and as she went to embrace him long ways her hand grazed, then grasped his sac and penis with her hand, reaching up his unmarked belly and skipping past so much that he hadn't anticipated her. He discovered at puberty that, of all the great things of being a beast, the human form was the superior form to enjoy sexual activities as sensitivity was one thousand times more intense. So, it wasn't necessarily painful when she cupped, joggled, and prodded him, the sensations were muted to him.
Still, even dazed by concussion, he felt it was improper to allow this to happen, as muted was not non-existent. He would be a pervert for taking advantage of her naïve attentions. And, more importantly, he should stop her inquisition now before her reaching hand made it to his anus, which was definitely her next stop and wouldn't be painless or muted. Uninvited butthole intrusion was universally unpleasant for beast and man. Preemptively, he clenched his dorsal muscles, his tail planting downward and hiding the hole from her.
The pain that bloomed through his burnt back and shot through his tail caused him to hiss with an intimidating, lip curling, wide toothed open mouth. Then he made a rumbling growl in his stomach, warning her away from that area while simultaneously reprimanding himself for allowing himself to lose sight of what had happened and what was happening. This immediate trust was wrong, she was at his back and that was a position very few had the honor of enjoying. He controlled the grimace, willing his eyes to open wide and glower at her with his bloodline powers activated, rushing to defend himself.
She never even looked his way. She was focused on the wounds, gently assessing the scope of damage. Annoyingly undisturbed by the power emanating from his eyes and his echoing vocal admonition. The compassion in her countenance calmed him somewhat, instinct of the beast classing with his paranoia, but when her hands came to touch his abscessed back, he moved his mouth to bite her tail in his last warning. From their reversed position, him holding her in his mouth meant that he couldn't see what she was doing, but he clenched down the moment her hand touched down. Damn scales held against his teeth, and he knew, he would have to exert his entire bite force to damage her, but he could do it and he would.
Still, the silly creature was unresponsive to his threat and merrily hummed this deep, soothing tune, carrying on with what currently had her attention. The sensation of cool menthol on his back soothed his nerves before it transformed into a warm, borderline hot, cinnamon like energy, which soothed the flesh. For a stretch he held her in his fangs, ready for punishment, but the more she poured into him, the less he hurt, the more ridiculous he felt with her tail in his mouth. He used his tongue to push the dented scaled flesh from his maw, turning to watch her in awe. Healing, she was healing him. They couldn't be more opposite, land to sea, cat to fish, fire to water, male to female. Cross species, cross terrestrials, even conflicting energy, and she was managing to accomplish something from the feeling of it.
He watched for a long time, her hands glowed brighter and brighter as the sun went down, illuminating the cave in a soft green that reminded him of her eyes. If he was in his simplistic man form, she probably would have succeeded quickly, and he would be whole. But his beast form was absorbent, greedily pulling in energy to fill his cells and make him plump, as well as resistant, allowing anything incompatible to flow away, channeled through the hollow follicles and back out where it came.
This mermaid seemed to understand that after exerting a great deal of her energy to do very little at the start. She adapted in a manner he couldn't pick apart, but the result was all beneficial, he could feel her becoming more proficient the more she poured into him, until it seemed that she had no waste at all. His back was itching fiercely, and he was compelled to lick everything back into place. Seeing no reason not to, he pushed his front legs for leverage to slick the fur. Her green energy faded as she moved to accommodate him. He brushed the surviving fur with more care than before, taking stock of the bald patches and the reforming flesh with keen understanding.
The progress was astonishing and he realized just how special a thing she was. Curious, beautiful, skilled, gentle. If, by some chance, this little creature was here by compulsion, by a silly notion of love or prophetic connection, he would certainly bring her home with him. He gave her a rare show of affection, nuzzling her arm with his oversized head, planting a wet nosed 'kiss' above the dip that would be a belly button if she had one. So close, he could see her violet skin was draining in its vibrancy and the rainbow gossamer gleaming in his peripheral lost some of the twinkling. Even her tail was less bulky, appearing that she had lost weight (dehydration?) from the start of the day till now. From when he first captured her, and she in return captured him. The darling thing, healing him at cost to herself.
He returned to laying, a little itchy, but feeling good and giving her what she needed to maneuver. His stomach felt full of fluttering wings, his body washed by a warmth that spread everywhere. He invaded her space and attacked her, and she returned everything in kindness, even giving part of herself to help him. It has been a long, long time since he received without being asked for a return, without conditions. Her green, an uncommon green he would forever come to associate with her, was glowing off the walls. Each vibrant pulse matched the rate the pain was leaving him. Eventually, the glow faded in time with her slow collapse, her tail slinking back into the water, and she resting where she fell.
Hands curled and tucked, cushioning her chin; she was gone in a blink. If he were a swooning man, he probably would have been knocked out cold from the very precious way she snuggled against him, promptly falling asleep, earning an infinite amount of endearment at her implicit trust in him. She reminded him of a milk drunk kitten with her adorable snores and entirely conked expression. And it was a wonder he felt her lie on him at all, she was light as a breeze.
He reviewed his injury again. His back was in very good condition, impressively so. He would make a full recovery with no limitations. If she had brought him food, he would have healed himself, albeit at a slower rate and without the certainty of full functionality. But now, twitching his tail in happiness, he knew he could run with speed and grace. And hunt. And eat. Ohhh, he couldn't wait to eat some meat. He didn't feel so hungry at the moment, his belly was full of her slime and his body was full of her energy, so maybe after she woke up. Perhaps while out, he could get her something special as a token.
He curled his body more, tucking her more securely against his stomach and he closed his eyes for an extension to his cat nap. She smelt so good, and he felt relaxed, he might as well enjoy their time together before he made his way back home, now that that clock was ticking. A few hours later he felt her tail shift, pulling up, her hands were on his back again, filling him with energy. Poor thing wasn't at it for nearly as long before she was back to snuggling his primordial pouch, mewing her sleepy song. He didn't feel compelled to open his eyes during this time, or any other time she woke to influence his body, he was so pleasantly situated, even with her shifting. He slept more soundly, more comfortable, than he could remember.