The Bracken Woods there is nothing fragile about you

like the obsidian marble he is carved from; adonian in stature alone unfortunately, he regards her ...simply. understanding her words — and more than capable of retorting — he takes no real issue with being assumed to be as thick as porridge. his attraction lay in strength and power. the assessment of which would have to be weighed hawkishly upon delicate scales of his own conception. bambam continues dwelling within the forging of his silence as she speaks; informing him that she is not a follower but neither is she a 'do it yourself-er'. he resists the urge to point out that no one could make something out of nothing, no matter how determined; instead bites down upon tongueflesh.

her words are honeyed; dripping like godgifted ambrosia from her lips. the viperess is bold in her approach; circling 'round him as if he were a prized stud — plain looking but sturdy and strong. temptation flares but so too does it's counterpart: doubt. it is all grand ...but you cannot offer a hungering tiger an empty palm with just the promise of meat. his teeth would unfeelingly and quickly sever the hand that fed him empty promises.

i am loyal only to the strong. he tells her; breaking his silence. what rewards? bambam demands.