11-22-2007, 06:50 PM
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sorry for the wait.
His cream-colored muzzle wrinkled against the foul smell of smoke. It was maddening, and fueled the flames of his extreme humiliation. The cold reply did nothing to calm him, either. Endymion stood before the hybrid, arms held stiffly at his sides, pale eyes still aimed at the ground. He looked like a child being scolded, though he and the Aquila were nearly the same age, give or take a few months. The hybrid was more massive, and could rip the Russo into several tiny pieces if he wanted to (but the w0lf knew he probably wanted to). Yet Endymion was feeling deep chagrin, and did not want to let himself be bullied. Even if it did cause him to get smacked around.
"I am, ain't I?" he asked the Aquila, glancing up into his golden eyes briefly.
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