Lost Creek Hollow without you

He watches with his functioning eye as her own green eyes narrow at him and he thinks with a giddy sense like a panther cornering a fawn intent on playing with his food that he has sparked something within her. Suspicion. Fear. Anger. Defiance. She feels something in that moment, Wardruna believes. He watches as she licks her lips again and then lets out a rattling cough that causes his lips to twitch. She is unwell. He does not fail to detect the shiver that ripples down her spine. Wardruna lets out a low huff as she looks away from him and deems that him choosing her is not how it works. “That is exactly how it works.” He counters sharply, harsher than he means to speak. Though Wardruna does not need it to be consensual, for a moment her rejection brings to the surface the anger and bitterness that he tries to bury. Burying it, however, is not a permanent solution to getting rid of it. His gods had not ordained this meeting for her to simply walk away; and to do what? To wither and die? He could drag her to Easthollow, certainty; but he knows. He knows that all it would take would be for the wrong word …or the right word in her case and everything he is trying to build for himself will come crumbling down to ash at his paws. “I need you.” The translation does not sound quite what he'd been hoping for but he is in no mood to try to piece together something more correct. It will suffice. Wardruna hasn’t quite figured out what use he has for her specifically yet. Perhaps, at the current moment in time he gravitates to her like a burning star pulled into a dying planet’s orbit because he is lonely and in some respect he hopes that she is like him. Perhaps Wardruna thinks that seeing her back to health would give him something else to focus upon other than his disability and all that he has lost for it. It is utter selfishness attempting to masquerading as selflessness.