Running restless

[Tristan]

The Trollstone was undisturbed by Sierra’s touch. Maybe Úlfar saw a woman first and the wolf within second. He was a real troll when it came to the weaker sex. Tristan was embarrassed enough by the hulking man’s behavior to vow he’d be better, but that vow of respect seemed only to make him irresistible. It was a perk of the deal, but one he didn’t deny himself. Sierra had the same look in her eye as dozens before her, barring the glow of a wild interior wrestling to be freed. She imposed her own bars, he recognized. He could help her, should help her if duty spoke true. His smile was invigorating, “I am of the blood, perhaps you can smell it in me,” he said. When he stood, it was an uncurling like the clouds rolling from the horizon. His eyes gleamed like sunset upon hers. Something about this world, something about this place, stirred the feral within. Úlfar would be proud, if he didn’t loathe the wolf.

He stood before her now, hand trailing her shoulder until coming to rest lightly upon the collarbone. “If you want to go, all you have to do is wake up.”