screaming with palms up and open

[Endymion Russo]

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sorry for the wait.

The eyes, the voice: both nearly sent his mind spiraling from calmly calculating to fight-or-flight. The two-year-old swallowed; his voice felt trapped, stuck between his heart and his tongue. Endymion stepped back quite a bit more as the figure advanced. Reason sat on his shoulder, shaking its head and tut-tut-ing at his silly late-night bravado. Suddenly the coast seemed even darker than before, and the house a temple of foreboding. Endymion's posture remained the same, however. He stood with his back straight, his shoulders squared to the oncoming stranger, fists held at his sides.

"I want-t-t-t-t-ted-d-d–" The young wolf broke off, expelling a sharp breath of exasperation. The stutter had come to haunt him, with horrible timing at that. Instead of fear, he then felt frustration and shame in front of the yellow-eyed stranger. His pale green gaze darted away to the sand and foliage beneath the other's feet. Sullenly, pathetically, he finished his sentence. "I w-w-wanted to s-s-see the hous-s-s-se." How humiliating.

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