Hideaway Strath And on most of the days we were searching for ways

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Declan watches as she takes the kill and sinks her teeth into it’s flesh. She eats a bit before she stutters about what Conan would like. Declan makes a low hum in his throat as his tail lashes against his hocks, lips quivering, causing the wounds to smart like a thousand thorns piercing his flesh as his nerves cry out in silent but felt agony. “I will hunt for him later,” Declan speaks after a long moment of contemplation fixing her in a intense stare. “You are no good to me or Teaghlaigh if you starve.” He tells her simply, perhaps even cruelly. His guttural, deep timbre is unaffected, as if he is stating simple fact. He does not perceive that his words might hurt her feelings and even if he was aware of how his words could be received is it unlikely he will care. He calls things how he sees them: logical and without the bearing the burden of compassion for the feral Commander has little of that and further little use of it. Besides, he is responsible for her now. His plan of pawning her off to Ceannasach has blown back up in his face and if he is to be shackled to and responsible for her she will be well fed and cared for — in Declan’s own twisted, obsessive way.

He notices her stare at the wounds the badger has given him and her tentative inquiry. May you what? He burns to demand of her. No, the burn of his infernal amber gaze says but most curious of all he lets out a grunt of approval. It is the boldest she has ever been to him and the feral Commander struggles between wanting to re-assert himself and wanting to see how much of a backbone he can force her to grow. The desire to both dominate and nurture is bizarre and he ignores those curiosities as they flag to life in his head like tiny, little sparks. If she can prove to be useful to him and to Teaghlaigh than who is he to tell her no? He settles back upon his haunches and holds his muzzle out for her to inspect and evaluate.

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