-And I Don't Like Sharing-

As soon as it had risen it had fallen away. The anger and pride in his breast, so sharp and direct, slips, when it sees the rosen back of Hotaru disappear into the shadows. The dainty harks upon his head twist back, hesitantly. Wait…. But his mind was torn too much to move, much less call to her. The dark swelling anger against her demands, hoovers, as that new feeling grabbed chest. The tall iron doors before his heart, at seeing that rosen visitor leave their doorstep, crack open. It reverberates across his skin, and the snow dusted rosen hide covering him shivers. It seems like the door might swing wide open, like there might actually be a key being offered. But then the old fears come back. The fresh air from the cracked iron doors shock his system, and they slam shut again. The heart inside racing fast against his throat to think of what lay beyond the walls, and a fear, darker than night and death rises again. No, he could not. If he admitted what he felt, if he named it, then this would be no different than before. His foe, that tiger in the shadows would gain strength no physical mortal possessed, and surely the golden could not stand against it. He would not give the terror of the rosen that power. He would not let his own shadows of the past cloak this creature, and let it win. The timidness vanishes from that white washed face. The anger, which had been so pointed at her, swings sharply back onto this tiger. He had done such vile things to her pristine rosen hide, and he would pay for it ten fold. Kill him said she? No. That would be far too merciful an act.

So in a peaceful glade, out in the high field stood a most tragic looking damsel. Her coat is marred in cuts and bruises, and one leg hoovers, delicately and jointed. Her face lies blank, and mostly hanging, eyes closed, though her ears are never still. Only occasionally from this position does she move. Her head, lifts and looks to a place in the shadows of the trees. It stares there for a moment, as if holding in a breath, then releases, looking back to the earth or closing its eyes again.

For a while time passes like this, and the mare seems tame, and cowed. But of course, we know the truth behind this illusion. At first he steals looks to the place where she slipped into the trees, but as time passes he looks there less often. The distance and the change of focus easing the strain and worry over the shadows of the past she was bringing forward again, even as she was walking away. The task set before him only built in anticipation during the waited return of the foe. This fowl cretin which soiled the coat of the rose. In all the tumble of emotions and feelings, the strong satisfaction of holding the trick card was winning out again. Fears, deep angers, and that pesky new emotion were being shoved into the corner. As his mind turned over in his head the movements and plans his heart begins to lose its flighty racey, pattering for that strong solid beat. With it came the strength in his limbs again, and the trust in his skill.

Under the sheep’s wool, the wolf breaths slow and deep, holding the dagger close, and feeling its metal against his own skin, while visions of revenge, blood, and release danced through his head.

OOC ::
"Speech"