The Sentinels i was late like thunder; i’m regretting it now

Szymon listened and watched raptly, his every fiber canted toward the girl’s response — and when it came, he was both pleased and displeased. She was wholly unsullied and pure; she could not see what he did. Even the forest creatures, wont to flee from the appearance of a predator, approached the witch of the wood with warm familiarity — and she saw the spirits that dwelled in their bodies and did not draw a line between predator and prey. He listened when she spoke; he would not discount her conviction, for it was clear that she was meant to heal and help in the same way that it was Doe’s way to mother and nurture or Skellige’s way to conquer and claim. Szymon could not speak to his own nature — he did not know it well, for it seemed to vacillate between the violence beaten into his flesh and the affection that burrowed deep within the marrow of his bones. She had not understood his warning and therefore, would not be able to heed it in good conscience.

Grasping for words, his tongue working fitfully about his mouth to fasten syllable to syllable in a workable, understandable way, “This p-poison you sh-should fear, Deirdre,” he intoned quietly, the bass timbre slow and deliberate. He locked his gaze steadfastly upon hers, tricking himself into a sense of calm security he did not truly feel in an attempt to still the stutter. “It was n-no accident. It was d-d-done to her — if sh-she is per — per — permitted within D-Donnelaith’s borders, she m-may w-w-well bring harm upon it. Sh-She is a w-w-wanted wolf.” Perhaps not all of this was true; Szymon was drawing this conjecture based on her furtive desperation and her stupidity in attempting to burden another pack with her injuries. Her attitude had been such that he wouldn’t have doubted she was being followed. “W-We know n-not if there were others f-f-following her. She — ” These were more words than Szymon had spoken to Deirdre at one time before, and he felt his throat lock briefly over them.

“She c-could b-bring h-harm — t-trackers, f-followers — to Donnelaith,” he insisted quietly, willing her to understand, wondering how he could see it done. “W-We Cairns are to b-be Donnelaith’s p-p-protectors — I w-w-want — ” Frustrated and ardent, he again brushed his muzzle against her tender pink paw pads. “I want — I am t-t-trying to p-protect you.” Perhaps his attempts were clumsy and frail, but he was doing his level best.