Fox's Glade feel the fear in my enemies' eyes

It did not make sense to Sheogorath when Xan's grip slackened, not until he spoke. Those words were like sweet, sweet honey to his ears, for it was this that he craved above everything else. Power. As much as he could gather. To win. And he realised only then the position that he had Xan in, the place that his teeth wrapped around Xan's scruff, the possibilities.

He placed his paws on top of Xan's shoulder and, holding his grip on his scruff, tried to push him down with his face in the dirt. Only if Sheo would manage to push Xan down would he release his grip, for now. "Why? Don't you lie awake every day and night thinking about that magical moment with me and wishing that I would return to give you some more?" A wicked grin was on his face, one very different from Cicero's usually facial expression. A wicked madness that showed that the humiliation was not over yet.