The Heartwood Edge control

Like pieces of an intricate puzzle, things begin to come together as the woman speaks. He watches her, eyes narrowed, realization slowly blooming over his features. Loyalty and betrayal. Charon had given him a lesson when he had first arrived at Moonspear, a story. Wolves who left, and took half the pack with them.

It is too much of a coincidence for him to ignore, and when she is finished, Llewellyn seizes upon it with alacrity, a slight snarl in his voice. "My leader spoke of treasonous wolves," he begins, utterly unaware of the irony in his word choice. "Now I have a name to include with the tale." His frown deepens as he stares her down, eyes raking over the firm muscles, the marks of battle.

"Were you one of the warriors they stole from Moonspear?" he accuses, decorum forgotten entirely in his anger--springing solely from his newfound loyalty. "Surely not, if you still stand before me. Unless you have no shame," he added, a derisive snort escaping his nostrils. Silently, he prepares himself for a fight. What a treat it would be, to bring home the head of a traitor and lay it at Charon's feet.

He could paint himself with her blood, present himself to Hydra. . .