Mudminnow River fiend

the way stigmata saw things: the wolves of bearclaw - a place he had served with duty and lasting intent - had rewarded his adamant loyalty and insistence that they try harder  to stand alone, with dissolution and abandonment. even when he had offered to remain near, pledging that his teeth would still snap in defense of their chosen homestead, they had scorned him; thought him foolish for standing up for his own legacy, as well as their own. 

but his rage over any blows to his pride had long subsided, leaving behind only ashes that stirred now at the sight of indra.

having seen her before the rest of his senses could catch up, at first the only thing he could do was look at her; stiff and unpredictable behind  his deep, caliginous stare - letting the rare moment of a predator meeting eyes with its prey pass between them.

when he didn't attack, and she didn't flee, stigmata spoke up over the middle-distance. "you lied to me," he blamed her. you said you needed me, his eyes accused her further.