Fox's Glade a poem in which i am neither a monster nor a martyr

She doesn’t snap at him, or attempt to move away. Does not even growl at him as Noma has done on numerous occasions. She allows him his assessment of her without fuss and for this Wardruna is pleased. Perhaps she would not fight him as Noma has done …it would be a welcomed reprieve to his frustration. Of course, it is his frustration and Noma’s fire that keeps the northerner infatuated with her — and he is infatuated with Noma ( and really, there was no sense in denying it ). It continues to fuel his possessive nature but a nature that his first thrall may no longer have to bear the brunt of alone. The hunt is now abandoned in Wardruna’s mind as he watches her, having to turn his head so that his right eye can fixate upon her as she nears when he beckons. Yet, she nears and it is evident to him by her body language that she means to take her own assessment of him. Though Wardruna thinks it’s unnecessary he allows it. He holds still for her and while she takes her assessment of him he tries to come up with how he was going to explain her presence to Valette and why it is important she stay with Noma and him. Though, he supposes there were ways he could work it. He has some time to think on it, at least. “What is your name?” Wardruna inquires of her, wondering if she will have her own name or if he will have to give her one as he had with Noma. “I am Wardruna,” The Northerner introduces himself next. “and my other thrall, my other …woman at home, she’s called Noma.” Wardruna informs her.