Shadow Mountain zoka

Anselm's hunt came to an end, the waif of a thing detecting him and whirling round to face him.

Miserable as he was, he was not prepared for the slap of her gaze: sorrow made its home there -- and an ugly loneliness too.

His eyes narrowed. He would not be charitable to a wolf caught eyeballing his herd. Though his possessiveness had no true rights, Anselm would not let her know that: another mouth, was just another piece of competition.

Then go, vitch. He hissed, ears cupped forward and eyes hard upon a sitting woman who truly deserved little rebuke.