Redsand Canyon Voice of Witchcraft

Donovan can see the fear in her, he can almost fucking taste it. He doesn’t like putting fear into his following, but when it comes to the well-being of his pack and possibly even life or death — he has to. 

He watches her sigh, her eyes are fearful — terrified as she whispers lowly to him words of loyalty. She is his to command now. He is her leader, her Grandmaster. He will lead her well, make her stronger. She will never be weak again. 

Donovan nods to her, standing tall before the snowy shewolf. His golden hues are tantalizing, inspecting every bit of her. Finally he speaks. “Good. Perhaps I may be able to trust you once more, but for now I do not. Trust must be earned.” He begins walking in a circle around her. “We will be going through vigorous training these next few days. Right yourself and be ready, Nyra.” 

Then he stops and begins walking away as if he couldn’t even care anymore. His voice is stern, but not aggressive as he speaks. “Go get some rest. Eat, drink, sleep, whatever you need to recuperate from your travels. God knows you need it. I’ll tell you tomorrow,” his voice gets harder. “for training.” He ends, finality in his voice.