Hushed Willows and never for a minute did he believe he could escape

There was tension anew. This much was known.

He who had been addressed as a boy spoke far differently. He spoke as though he were a grown man. While usually it would be admired and applauded, now was only a time to wonder if the choice to draw near had been detrimental and a waste of time.

Most of this age were of the same description. Prideful. Naive. Arrogant. Provocative. 

He who stood before was all of these things. Though, there was a singular difference. The manner was caged. He was aware that rights had been bestowed to him, and the anger and aggression that surged through him had been encouraged by another. This boy did not run alone and this bore further curiosity.

It seems we are at an impasse, then. Few words were uttered before silence fell again. 

Temptation had then risen. 

Was there worth to show his face? The sordid, mangled face of a man who lived as nothing more than sin itself.

There was promise. Thus, the benefit of doubt could be given.

A heartbeat passed. Then two. Three.

From where it was hidden, the shadow emerged. A snout showed itself, then a set of tense, broad shoulders. Dark fur thickened, loosening only when the breeze demanded movement. Heavy snow crunched beneath each setting of a foot.

There now stood a man, exhibiting scars worth years of battle — a majority of which contributed to pure success, even fewer present from failure.

By your reaction alone, it is evident you despise being addressed as a boy. If such is true, what shall I know you to be called? The tone had not changed, nor the stature. Manner had, however. No, there was no reason to consider politeness, but at least there had not been a snarl present to accompany each following word.