Whitefish River i have what you're looking for

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Rollo does not know what he seeks other than self-assurance that his presence is not threatened by the other. But how to put into words his own core-shaking fears in the face of a man who, with one word, asserts his dominion; his impassive confidence? While outwardly, the man himself may seem unwavering on account of his physical attributes, instability reeks within, and he finds himself not wholeheartedly threatened but regarding the other with a feeling of respect. This is not a man to be conned, but one with a backbone similar to Rollo himself. But that does not take account for the skepticism that is yet to be avowed, and he presses on with his mistrustful mindset, out of instinct rather than choice. “Friend . . .” he draws out, words staggering through his throat on a husky breath. “ -- or foe?” Comes his inquisitive inquiry; when he calls, there is very little sign of his inner trepidation but pure virility in his tone and movements. Straightening up, he rests his head properly upon the mantle of his shoulders, losing his appeal of uncertainty in replacement of a wish to appear as if his mind could mimic the outward composure of his body. In physicality, he has little flaws, but in the workings of the brain did his blemishes lie.

Rollo will not appear a weakling, but he does not appear pretentious. He is a man, searching for what he cannot find, and unknowingly, something the other can offer; allegiance. But Rollo’s intentions do not even come clear to himself and for a fraction of a second does he second guess the purpose of his words, contemplating the idea that should the man wear the pallium of a leader strong, that he could be willing to fall in line and serve, to serve anyone other than his gods. One thing is certain, however, he acknowledges the other holds a certain sway, something that calls, that pulls to take a chance and he cannot attempt to deny it frightens him more than ever.

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