01-12-2021, 03:04 AM
After Sierra left, Tristan was alone with the pulse of his own heart. The throb slowly dwindled and the threat of loneliness loomed once more. People were unreliable, unpredictable, emotional bags of blood, he thought. For the wolfpack, order was straight forward. Need drove them for food, shelter, mating, and rest. Tristan had all of those things, so why did he claw, gnash and fight for more?
He sighed, regret casting its scent from himself. The scent would be unknown to a wolf. Thorn Paw wouldn’t understand. Tristan was human and he barely understood. Maybe his uncle, the reclusive troll, had the right idea.
He should go after Sierra. Maybe he’d not be able to convince her to stay, but at least to tell her he was sorry. Before he could make any such plan, her scent returned. Had his wishful thinking conjured her?
“Sierra?” he said to himself, but the words were stifled by the bristles of his beard. She held up a drawing, and he was frozen with shock. Not that the page showed what he and Sierra saw in the far woods, but that she was there.
He took her hand, the one that held the paper, and all but dismissed the image. He stared into her eyes, wishing that she would discard the contacts and display the gold he knew burned within. “I’m sorry,” was all he said. “I am a terrible partner. Terrible mate. Terrible everything. If you stay, I will probably hurt you again. I make no claim to be a good man. But if you stay, it would make me happy,” he wanted to kiss her, but unlike the last time he stood at these waters, he controlled himself.
He sighed, regret casting its scent from himself. The scent would be unknown to a wolf. Thorn Paw wouldn’t understand. Tristan was human and he barely understood. Maybe his uncle, the reclusive troll, had the right idea.
He should go after Sierra. Maybe he’d not be able to convince her to stay, but at least to tell her he was sorry. Before he could make any such plan, her scent returned. Had his wishful thinking conjured her?
“Sierra?” he said to himself, but the words were stifled by the bristles of his beard. She held up a drawing, and he was frozen with shock. Not that the page showed what he and Sierra saw in the far woods, but that she was there.
He took her hand, the one that held the paper, and all but dismissed the image. He stared into her eyes, wishing that she would discard the contacts and display the gold he knew burned within. “I’m sorry,” was all he said. “I am a terrible partner. Terrible mate. Terrible everything. If you stay, I will probably hurt you again. I make no claim to be a good man. But if you stay, it would make me happy,” he wanted to kiss her, but unlike the last time he stood at these waters, he controlled himself.