Firefly Glen barefoot in the kitchen, sacred new beginnings

She exhaled slowly, his tone remaining neutral, if not his posture relaxing. Her own did the same, though she remained lower—delicate form curled closer to the ground as one ear flickered to his words of warning, her bronze-kissed brows arching in surprise to his words.

“Dangerous wolves?”

She swallowed, trying to recover from the look of what might resemble a deer in headlights as she straightened somewhat, looking to the wolf before her, her stomach hollowing. Surely not… He couldn’t be referring to Sol and Stjor? She hadn’t seen any captured individuals… They were… intense. But dangerous?

Sol’s wraith-like form came to mind—the severity of his green eyes and the lure of his growling voice.

“What do they look like?” Her words were hushed, and she swallowed down her growing nausea.

It never once occurred to her that her inability to place trust upon another was her own inability to see that perhaps… her companionship was desired, rather than something to be toyed with.