*slaps forehead* Bad Noss, you made Strel upset. >~<
From his peripheral vision, Noss saw Strel's posture change, and he almost turned his head. At that point, a part of him so badly wanted to turn his head, just so he would have an excuse to be weak and give in. All he could do was hear the redhead, and that voice nearly broke Noss's resolve by itself.
"I have to," he said, voice still straight, a poker face donned as ever. Imperceptably, he felt that gaze weigh on him, and he wanted to look into those eyes. Of all of Strel, Noss liked his eyes best. They defined the man; sharp, quirky, sarcastic, handsome...his. That random thought burned brightly through Noss's conciousness; unbidden and totally not part of the plan. But when he thought about it, his anger grew when he even considered Strel belonging to another, even though he knew he had to leave. It was selfish, but that was how possessive Noss was. But he's...not mine, he corrected himself. It was like an internal war, and Noss was afraid that it would soon show on his face.
"If you wanted to leave so damn badly, you should have told me sooner that you didn't want to be here." That did it. Noss heard the hurt clear in those words, and all his fears of himself were confirmed when he did turn his head, see those eyes, and felt all resolve melt away. What's wrong with me? Being weak wasn't part of Noss's repetoire, but Strel seemed to make him break every time he tried to be strong. But why? They were the definition of each other's foils, and at the same time, Noss felt like he was home. In one month he had never felt more like he belonged, even as every reason and fact proved him wrong.
He wanted to get up and somehow comfort Strel when that smile didn't reach his eyes. Strel's smiles and smirks were always clear-cut, but this one was faltering and injured. He didn't know how he could make Strel understand without deciding to completely trash the whole 'return-to-pack-with-sister' bit. "Strel," Noss intoned, using all his warrior training to keep his voice even, "It's not that I don't like being here. But you know what I have to do." He didn't want to be so cold... Because at that point, he actually cared for this wolf, but whatever he said or did, he couldn't seem to make the right decision. Moon help me; what is right? He wished that he had a Shaman's words; they were always right, and they had always guided the tribe to safety.
Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.
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