As she spoke, he caught a whiff of her scent. It was that of fresh flowers, and it left him feeling euphoric. [i]Rose…[/i] upon learning her name, he was filled with joy. Forever she had just been a blurred dream, an enigma. Now, a name gave it life; now, it [i]felt[/i] real. The sight, the scent, the sound of her voice, it was almost too much. He felt nearly overwhelmed, but managed to keep himself reserved, not wanting to seem brash or frighten the girl.

Before he could introduce himself, Willow had rushed Rose off to the kitchen. Left there alone with these sensations, Fenrir took a seat once more and attempted to sort his thoughts. The small home was very clean, neat, and orderly, and it left him feeling out of place. It’s not like Fenrir was dirty, or that he lived haphazardly, but he wasn’t nearly as refined. His cabin was more spacious, and his lifestyle more practical. The same contrast held true moments ago when Rose had been in the room. She was petite, and her outfit elegant, causing Fenrir’s figure and weathered clothes to seem rather rugged.

[i]Thank you for coming this evening.[/i] The words echoed throughout his mind. Did she know why he was here? Was she prepared; grateful for his arrival? Fenrir smiled at the thought, wanting it to be true, hoping it could all turn out so easily. But then, his acute hearing would reveal the truth. His ears were sharper than that of a normal man, though not nearly as keen as when he took the form of a wolf or a Lycanthrope. Still, it was enough to pick up the hushed voice one room over.

[i]Grandmother, who is that?[/i] Upon hearing those words Fenrir’s smile whisked away and a somber uneasiness filled him once again. He kept his composure as the women re-entered the room and set the table. Without much being said, they began to eat, sharing a meal in the slightly awkward silence. He tried his best not to stare at Rose, though often his gaze would find her when she wasn’t looking. She caught his glimpse a few times, so he’d blink and redirect his sight as if to feign indifference. Near the end of the meal, Fenrir attempted to introduce himself once more.

“Rose…” he cleared his throat, then faced the young girl “…my name is…”

“Fenrir.” Willow interrupted, sounding more like she was beckoning Fenrir’s attention rather than finishing his introduction. “…Perhaps…” she spoke very nervously, “…maybe you could spend some time here… and maybe… if you find it in your heart, after a few weeks… you could let the girl decide.” her choice of words vague, keeping Rose still in the dark.

There was visible frustration on Fenrir’s face. Was this a ploy? She couldn’t trust him, could she? Who could blame her, he’s [i]Lycan[/i] after all, and most Lycan are more beast than man. [i]Take her…[/i] a voice growled in his head, [i] you are a [b]wolf[/b], take what is [b]yours[/b][/i]. It was always a struggle between the man and the beast. What set Fenrir apart from his kin, however, was that the man often won. Still, the beast was always there, murmuring in his ear, tempting him.

This emotion reminded him of that fateful night, from where this all began. The night where he had almost chosen to kill Willow, he had almost became the beast. She pleaded for her life, but he had orders to follow, and the events of the war ran his emotions high. Then she pleaded for the life of another, and the man won out. They struck an agreement; Fenrir abandoned the war, and returned Willow to her home.

What did his compassion gain him that night? Hated by humans and a traitor to his own kind, Fenrir had nothing and no one. His only reward would be the girl; his own chance at happiness… this… [i]Rose.[/i] Was this old woman trying to take that away?

“…Perhaps…” Fenrir replied in confidence, mockingly mimicking Willow’s request, “…maybe you could have told her.”