She seemed pleased by his obsequiousness, and he relaxed. He hated being taken to task, but he'd have hated being corrected physically in front of the others even more. While in D'Arte, that sort of thing wouldn't have happened -at least, not until his supposed crime- he didn't think it would be outside the realm of possibility here. He didn't want to find out for sure, and soon Aeron was on to more important things; the hunt.
He smelled rather than saw his mate’s uncle join the group, and he inwardly groaned. Had the Austral male heard him being cut to size? He let his eyes slit open slowly, daring short quick glances, his body retaining the submissive posture so repugnant to him. He listened to the coyote Aeron, his eyes darting around to the others, gauging her words. He supposed she was right on for what they were supposed to be doing. He was glad he wasn't going to be separated from Ayasha; after the verbal lashing he'd gotten, he actually found himself feeling absurdly insecure.
He hated that feeling. He wished he was wearing his clothing, and in his optime form. If he were, he would be clutching the bone shard now, reminding himself of the strength he carried. The butterflies whispered to him, soothing his inner anger with promises of violence to come later, of hot blood in his mouth and the screams of the dying in his ears. That was good enough for now.
Image courtesy of mugley
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