Swiftcurrent Creek i'm gnashing my teeth like a child of cain

“You don’t have to preen me to get your tiara, Wren,” he teased, trying to make lighter of the situation than what it felt—because truly—was he a good guy?

He could have argued all day against that one, but it wasn’t the time or place.

She offered a description and he took the mental notes, the clench of his teeth and the shift of his weight the final reveal of the tension he held—the way he wished to make the attackers pay with a law he felt only justified—tooth and claw.

“We’ll be on watch for them, Wren. You can trust that.” And if she didn’t hear the bitter promise in his words, he would be surprised—radiating from him like a volcano about to implode.

The Creek had taken too many hits—retribution belonged to them. His eyes fell rapt upon the glean of her tongue to her lips--transfixed before looking back to her gaze. "Want any water before I go?"