Moonspear big man in tehran

Lazarus' attempt to hide his reaction had failed. It did not matter. The only opinion he cared about was that of the dark woman, and no child was going to remove him from the mountainside so easily. It would involve uprooting his budding obsession for the shadow that stalked the slopes, and Lazarus was not eager for either of those things to come to pass. He watched the boy as best he could with his head canted towards a copse of trees growing off-kilter from the rest; his ears pivoted to listen, and he could see the Alpha in his periphery, but he did not dare look upon the boy with a direct line of sight. The tone of his voice hinted at enough anyway.

With an abrupt step Lazarus pulled his body away from the den's entrance, and then turned to look upon it — his ears shifting to stay alert to Charon as the boy introduced himself — as if to allow him a glance at his work. He would mark it later. Some time when Charon was not around to watch (or perhaps circumvent). The white beast's right ear flicked at the mention of the leading female, and this was when he dared look upon the boy - though it was a fleeting glance across his face - and settle his tangerine gaze upon the child's chest. He had not heard the woman's name before, and found it curious. Ame, you say, his voice rumbled softly, choppy in pitch and tone like gravel falling with an irregular cadence across the hillside; it was good to know the name of his future wife. You have known her.. long?

As he asked this, Lazarus' gaze slipped casually up, taking root briefly upon Charon's neck line — and he wondered idly if he should try to snap his neck here and now, or wait until he had a better motive.