Bearclaw Valley moreau's golem

stigmata looked away, disinterested as the garnet child insisted on being apologetic, and he returned his silver-gloom eyes to her only when she had finished. he blinked at her almost tiredly -- disapprovingly -- while inwardly he was haunted by thoughts of her purity. had anyone tended to this blooming rose? pruned and watered it with care?  his stare inadvertently dipped to the slim trail of her waist, and his tail gave one hungry lash before falling still again. another part of him regarded this emotion hatefully; he knew he wanted her, and that she could become a terrible distraction -- a weakness, if he dared call it by its true name. he steeled himself to her quite suddenly.

not inclined to repeat himself, he chose not to go on with her about blame. "i have faced worse inductions, i assure you," he said, rising to his feet and turning away from the lissome red-dove. "my name is stigmata -- and i should return to my hunt." for other wolves' weaknesses, not my own. the basilisk inclined his lean muzzle to her, setting one sharp eye on her for one magnetized moment before turning on his heel to prowl away.