Arrow Lake the beast of beauclair

though he kept an ear out for the she-wolf - monitoring her haughty progress to the water's edge - nothing could have prepared stigmata for her very sudden and piercing yelp. he reacted as any startled predator might: rounding fiercely to face the potential threat, and scare it off with a show of might.

but all he could find, after ruining his fish-hunt, was the halfbreed favoring her forepaw with a pained grimace. she looked as if she had been assailed at first, but unless the perpetrator was a ghost, he found no immediate cause for her reaction. the warhound shouldered his way to shore, confident that the area was safe, even despite her grievous protest to the very water.

he didn't turn his attention to he again until after reaching dry land, and giving himself a shake. he glared at her. "you must be lonely," he stated unkindly; eyes prying towards her injured foot, as he imagined ways to exploit her.

but she was not one to be exploited, and skittered away with her injury, leaving stigmata grumpy and fruitlessly chilled to the bone in the process. he abandoned his efforts at the lake, too cold to have anything more of it after such a sour interruption.