Witch's Marsh Don't you remember when you were young, and you wanted to set the world on fire?

At no point in Glaukos' life had he ever had control of it.

Growing up beneath the one eye of Merrick.

Protecting Avicus as they grew, as commanded.

Serving Germanicus.

Druid.

This last demand flew from the mouth of a girl he did not know, protective of a place he had never heard of. The look on her face was the same as Druid's had been.

You women, he slurred between his teeth as he rose to his full height, mud be damned; —need to learn— he was lunging for her; throwing himself directly in her path with his freight-train weight adding incredible momentum—to be seen and not heard.

Glaukos' body devoured the space as he charged for her.

The displacement of rage was all he felt, red was all he could see; and his teeth sought purchase in the flesh of the innocent.

This time he would not hold back—if he caught the girl with any sort of decent grip, he would pull her to pieces.