<style type="text/css">
.calliengreen b {font-weight:bold; color:#48cc78; letter-spacing:1px; }
.ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:10px;}
.calliengreen p {text-indent:25px;padding:5px 10px;margin:0px;}
.calliengreen {width:400px;border:1px solid #06190d;background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v26/K ... allien.png);background-position:bottom center;background-repeat:no-repeat;padding-bottom:175px;background-color:#227f43;text-align:justify;margin:10px;font-family:georgia, serif;font-size:11px;line-height:12px;color:#04130a;}
</style>
Whatever the incident that had so roused her scorn, it had surely had very personal impacts on the russet-hued woman. She spurned Caillen's approach, her body leaning away from him and quickly rising once more. The large Wolfdog mirrored her, rising to his full and intimidating height somewhat slower than she.
Suspicion was creeping in, and it chilled his blood. The more she spoke, the more things seemed to turn down that unfavorable alley, the one that twisted and turned and put cold malice in his sky blue eyes. Caillen was only the gentle giant Talitha believed him to be when these memories, these thoughts, were at bay. Something a lot darker brewed deep within.
She turned abruptly, and he was watching, watching with the expression of someone desperately preparing to hear of the only thing that could still shatter them. For the merle brute, it was She; Perhaps he knew, even before the Lykoi wench voiced her name into the still-cold air.
But the reaction was instantaneous. His gaze became ice, spiraling down in degrees faster than the arctic winter. The feeling within, deep within, exploded; it felt as though a storm had been unleashed. His blood sizzled, cold rivers that burned beneath iron muscles. His hands were shaking.
Two strides to reach her, just two strides. Huge hands fell about slender shoulders, and they were rough, careless. He would have no more of her strange babbling - He needed to know, and she would tell him. The man resisted the urge to shake his lover, shake her hard; The furious disease that was his bottled rage was leaking through him, as uncontrollable as a snowstorm. "Tell me," And this time, his voice was not the charming wanderer, the hopeless romantic. This was an order, and it was filled with utmost loathing, deep instinctual danger. "Tell me what ye know of the woman with tha' name. TELL ME." The last words were a roar, and he felt control slipping, the hands on her shoulders trembling slightly.
He didn't want to hurt her, not Talitha. He loved her. But the rage was back with a vengeance, and it sought the woman he'd once known as his mother.