Catori Thirle | Stand-In Chief | Mentions:

Koa (Dir.) Ivan, Elders (Indir.)

Catori’s eyes lit up at the reply, peering from over the lip of her cup, her grin persisted. Only briefly vanishing from her lips as she swiftly swallowed the remaining liquid in her glass. That would be all for tonight, she had business to handle tonight and tomorrow. Any more indulgent activities would mean her mind would not be in the right space to perform adequately. She would not let the Elders down in her current role, she would ensure that Ivan would be a strong leader. Her arm swung out to place the empty cup down on the table before she returned her grinning face to Koa’s. She allowed him to lead them, she had done enough leading others recently. She never enforced her warriors to change how they addressed her, it was natural, after all she was never to take over as chief. Her current role was simply to ensure the tribe survived to the time that Ivan was eligible to take over.

The initiation of the dual dance was not too surprising. Many of the tribe’s traditional dances were performed in pairs or groups, it was more enjoyable that way and much prettier to watch from the sidelines. Catori’s hands slipped up to take their positions at his shoulders, certain not to wander too close to his neck. They did not remain there long, the music was picking up rather quickly. Who had taken over the tempo? Her eyes tried to catch a glimpse of the culprit but during her spinning flings, she could not make them out clearly. Catori had little paint on her body, simply the remnants from painting Syllivanna. A few brushes of blue here and there, nothing intentional. Apart from a small strike of silver under her collarbone, courtesy of Syllivanna returning the painting gesture. The light of the fire caught on the metallic element and gave a small flash with each twirl that Koa sent her into.

Although they were not far apart in age, Catori beating him there ever so slightly, she never grew to the size that he managed to attain. With her mother being rather tall, many expected her to follow in that genetic lane, alas she remained shorter than the rest of her cohort. She had watched Koa grow into a fine warrior, eventually taking over as lieutenant and enriching his skills further. The pair had been on fine terms on the announcement of her new role when she was younger, other older warriors had been a little ticked off that she had been chosen. Some of those still voiced that opinion today.

Her own lungs began to strive for air a little harder, the tempo was almost too quick for them to catch up with. “I think,” She paused as she was flung away, continuing once she returned close to him. “Your cardio needs some work.” Catori teased, her face pulled into a bright smile, her canines poking out.

The woman almost staggered over as the music came to an abrupt stop, her foot scuffling the flattened earth as she flicked back to Koa for the last time. Managing to maintain her balance by tightening her grip on Koa’s bicep, almost a little too tight. She hoped that it didn't hurt him. Her dark eyes snapped towards the slightly elevated rock that the Elders were situated on. Her pupils narrowed significantly, ears ever so slightly tilted back. She should have anticipated that, the stars were high, it was time for formalities. Catori’s attention was brought back to Koa as he spoke, watching as he smeared some of the paint on his face, the act drawing a small laugh from her. “You’re welcome.” She trailed after him to the table. “But seriously, we need to work on that cardio.” Catori poked a slender finger into his arm with the teasing remark. In reality, she was also a little out of breath.

Once at the table, she remained by his side, keeping her spine straight as she turned her eyes to the Elders. Carefully listening to them, she knew they would decide how she would train Ivan tonight, what they had decided on she was unsure. Tentatively, she waited. Then they began with something new, something she had not heard of yet. She took a small inhale, sharp and quick. Unsurprisingly cryptic. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of the words. Marked…what marked. A soft breeze flicked her hair from her face, her head tilting slightly as she tried to think. Had the Elders interpreted this prophecy? She must inquire later as to how she should approach this. They declared a challenge, a test of their abilities. Catori hoped that whatever it was would not bring more harm to the tribe and especially the apprentices, if they were the ones that must face this challenge, she prayed to their ancestors that they were strong enough to persevere.

Her attention was drawn carefully from the Elder’s by Koa, she shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on the Elders as she spoke. “I am unsure.” Catori’s words were soft, almost whispered to the male beside her, not desiring to interrupt the speakers. However, when the moment she had been waiting for came, she had little time to react to the progression of her role. Koa choked beside her, rather dramatically. Her pupils slammed shut into slits and her head whipped around to stare at him, catching the end of the liquid flying from his mouth. Thankful that he had managed to not direct it to splash over her in his surprise. Admittedly, she had expected a senior warrior to be appointed temporarily to lieutenant so that Ivan may have an experienced mentor as well as herself and the Elders. Yet, the Elders surprised her again. She was to be the sole mentor outside of the three women. That thought was a little terrifying. Her blood pumped harsh in her ears, the responsibility was massive. Behemoth even. Anxiety pricked at her skin, for the briefest moment she thought she would begin to hyperventilate. But that was when Koa had choked, breaking her out of her stupor.

Catori watched as Koa fought to get control of his lungs again, coughing into a cloth from the table. A smile was brought to her lips instead of the shiver of panic, a small laugh coming from her throat. “That was quite a reaction, Koa. I think the whole tribe would have heard that.” She grinned wider, using the opportunity to laugh and tease to distract her from the underlying dread she felt at the announcement.

As Aelion stood slightly apart from the crowd, he noticed the way the masses shifted, bodies parting like water as two familiar figures wove their way toward him. Baiyen and Merrick moved with a mix of ease and determination, Merrick pulling Baiyen along with his usual cocky grin plastered across his face. It was a sight Aelion had grown used to, the boldness of Merrick balanced by Baiyen’s quieter presence.

He caught their approach in his peripheral vision, but didn't immediately move. When they reached him, Merrick slung an arm casually around Aelion’s shoulders. Aelion tensed for a moment, feeling the weight of his friend's gesture before he let himself relax. The contact was grounding in a way, something familiar in the chaos of the evening, though Aelion’s posture remained rigid. A half-smile ghosted over his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "It’s been... something," he said, his voice even and controlled. He wasn’t ready to dive into the thoughts swirling in his head—the prophecy, Sarolta, the trials, and everything that lay ahead.

Turning toward Baiyen, Aelion gave him a nod in greeting. "You made it through the crowd," he remarked, his tone just as steady as before. "Night’s only getting more crowded as it goes on." His eyes flickered between Merrick and Baiyen, catching the quiet tension in Baiyen’s gaze, something that mirrored the unease he was feeling himself. "And you?" he asked, his voice carrying a bit more weight now. "How’s the night treating both of you?"

He let his gaze linger on Baiyen a moment longer, reading the unease that reflected his own. "How do we feel about the trials?" The question hung in the air, but before anyone could answer, the music that had been thrumming in the background abruptly halted.

The elders were speaking.

Aelion’s attention snapped toward them, his breath catching slightly as Valae began to speak, her voice weaving through the crowd like an unsettling wind. His eyes drifted to his grandmother, Ula, who stood beside Valae with an expression as impenetrable as ever. The words of the prophecy sent a chill down Aelion's spine, and he found himself gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter. He had heard the elders speak in riddles before, but this one felt different. It felt personal—like the trials weren’t just about proving their worth, but about facing something far darker, something none of them were prepared for.

At the mention of the shaman, Aelion’s gaze instinctively shot toward Elariel, his uncle, who looked visibly upset. His eyes followed Elariel’s stare, landing on Althaea, his aunt. He knew how much Althaea coveted the title of shaman. Hearing Ravae offered the position struck a chord with Aelion. He could feel the tension radiating from his family, the mere sight of it giving him unease.

As if the night wasn't stressful enough already.

Cyrus Terosh | Warrior | Mentions:

Alvaerelle (Dir.) Ivan, Akith’ki, Sarolta, Catori, Elders (Indir.)

Cyrus kept his form still, only the rise and fall of his chest indicating that he had not turned into a statue. Pleased with his success in this encounter, he used his fingers that held her jaw lightly to tilt her head back slowly. The music had reached a tempo no one could possibly keep up with, his eyes narrowed in the shadow his body cast over himself and Alvaerelle. Cyrus had seen the poignant kiss plastered onto her hand by Ivan as she came whirling back to his arms. He could do better than that. He had merely used his hands so far and Cyrus had already achieved more affection from the fiery woman than Ivan ever had.

He lowered his head to close the distance between them, their lips barely grazing, a feathering touch. The music halted abruptly. Cyrus’s shoulders tensed under her hold, eyes flicking up for a moment at the interruption.

“It appears we will have to continue this later, Alvaerlle dear.” His voice low, meant only to be heard by her ears. Carefully, he slipped his hand from her jaw, instead using it to lift the woman back to a comfortable standing position. He did not cease contact with her, keeping one hand placed intentionally at the small of her back. A long glance over his shoulder landed his eyes on Ivan as the cryptic voices of elders began to drift around the now almost silent clearing. The heir was paying them no attention, he had walked away. A small stuttering of a growl drew from his vocal cords, barely making it out between his lips, reverberating inside his throat instead.

The prophecy meant little to the man, he held no faith in their ancestors. To him, they knew nothing about how to organise this tribe. They had allowed the three most important members to all die within a relatively short period of time. Now they had some scrawny young woman playing leader. The thought made his jaw clench, the hand of Alvaerelle’s back shifting ever so slightly. He kept his lips sealed, he did not want to ruin whatever progress he had made, but the simmering anger in him was only growing stronger.

At the reveal of Ivan taking Catori’s position, his lips curled back into a snarl. He had no doubt that he would never be considered for the role, but there were far better options. Even objectively. Outside of his opinions of the softness of the other warriors, any of the older warriors would have been the superior choice. Elariel in particular. Cyrus dared a glance towards his old friend, he could feel the pang of sadness from the dark-haired man emitting like waves, Cyrus did not blame him.

Completely caught up in the revelation that Ivan would not only be lieutenant but that he would be trained and guided by the incompetency of Catori and the elders, Cyrus’s lips remained drawn back in distaste as he stared towards the speakers. The only benefit he could ascertain was that Ivan would be easier to knock off of his podium, bringing up his lack of skills, his inexperience. That could very well lead to a change of leadership, be it himself or his son. Gods, even Sarolta, would be better than that poor excuse of an heir.

It was when Ravae’s name was spoken that Cyrus could not help himself any longer. A frustrated snarl ripped from his throat, his head snapped sideways, hand lifting from the woman beside him. He walked a few paces away before rounding to walk back towards Alvaerelle once more, his head shaking, a growl underlying his voice.

“Her? Do they know nothing?” He spat, not directing his words at anyone in particular as he began to circle Alvaerelle. “I have never seen that woman do anything that would even suggest she could take over her role.” His eyes began to prickle with a sensation he was certainly not fond of, to disturb it from coming to fruition, Cyrus whipped his head around again. Aiming his glaring amber eyes up towards the elders, none of them knew what they were doing. The very suggestion that someone like Ravae could replace his love was an insult, the fact they had proclaimed it a message from the ancestors was an outright challenge.

Alvaerelle Wynzorwyn

Her nickname upon Ivan’s lips were like a song she had not heard in a long while. She allowed his vocals to melt into her ears and simmer her burning core once more. Ivan’s half-grin had reminded her of a time when they were younger plotting mischief and running rampant. She enjoyed her time with him and Samblar during their younger years. They had been wholly wild and free, exploring the environment around them. Despite being slightly younger than the boys, they showed her things they had uncovered together and decided to include her and make her a part of their small brotherhood as well.

Upon the firm yet delicate twirl of her figure, she would at last meet the bowing male with the softest grin. She once had a crush on him at a time when her and Samblar’s relationship had strained and become distant. Her only sense of normalcy was that Ivan had spared her from being completely isolated, offering to take her on a moonlight stroll to talk about their days and deliberate upon all sorts of random subjects of little importance. His soft lips meeting the back of her hand caused a slight flush of her cheeks to rise once more before meeting the grasp of Cyrus once more.

—

She was set aflame again as Cyrus drew his face closer to hers. Their lips had nearly begun grazing each other as they hovered ever so closely. She could taste the mead of his breath dancing and swirling against her tongue and she began to pant lightly, sharing her own breath of lychee and honey. She was burning once again from the inside out. Her heart was thunderous, beating like the hooves of a wild stampede of horses. Her heart was beating so wildly she could hear her pulse through her ears, so much so, it had nearly blocked the abrupt silence of the music. The fiery desire this male knew how to rile up from the depths of her would likely shatter her into oblivion, she knew that dangerously too well seeing where they stood now. She watched his gaze slip from hers and nearly growled out of frustration having been interrupted. A moment of pleasure gone by the doings of the Elders announcement. If she had a tail it would have angrily lashed with annoyance at the interruption. Her name spilling from his tongue again followed by a pet name had her simmering ever so lightly. Her spine would emit a pulsation of pleasure causing her to shudder under his touch as he slipped the hand that held her chin, out to assist in propping her upright once more. The Gods sure knew when to interrupt a good thing.

Now standing, she would dip her skull in thanks toward the brute beside her and accept his hand gracing the small of her back as the Elders began. There were certain words that came out of their shared prophecy that drew a near predatory second sense that danger had been lurking uncomfortably close as of late among the tribe. She’s grown skeptical many times of the prophecies the elders announced but they were never wrong despite whatever riddles and rhymes escaped. A change in the trials did not peak her fancy, though she refused to allow any doubt to reveal itself. Her nieces would succeed and do fine, regardless of whether or not they brought back the dragons. There were several other announcements that left several of the tribe in dismay, disappointment, and flames themselves. Their announcement of Ivan to become lieutenant shocked her. She was proud of him but knew he was not as experienced as Elariel, Cyrus, or even Cornaith. She’d have to speak with him and congratulate him on his promotion. She would peer back towards him offering a gentle smile before returning her gaze toward the Elders final announcement. Ravae was to become the next shaman. Ravae was unfamiliar to Alvaerelle leaving her to find the choice interesting.

Her attention would shift as she could feel the males touch beside her change as well. She could sense his growing anger, the heat of his rage rising to meet her actively cooling skin. She had nearly emitted a hiss and snarl of her own in distaste towards his final snap following the announcement of Ravae as the new shaman. He had fortunately dismissed himself in advance however returned to begin his ranting of the prophecy and decisions being made.

“Her? Do they know nothing? I have never seen that woman do anything that would even suggest she could take over her role.”

He’d been pacing angrily around her which had begun to creep under her skin. She didn’t understand why a warrior such as himself would concern himself so much over the selections made by the elders. Catori had been an adequate lieutenant despite her age and while most, including herself, likely would have preferred someone more senior in the position. Catori had proved herself capable. Ivan now taking her role was all the more fitting and likely only temporary considering he is the eldest heir of royal progeny. Again, the elders had continued to pick the younger over the older which clearly would have upset them, maybe even disappointed them but the Elders' decisions alongside the royals had been good enough to keep the tribe alive against all odds that may have been poised against them.

Then it came to her. He had been rambling about their selection of Ravae. The female was set to take the position of his deceased mate who had died shortly after the disappearance of the Chief’s mate. In truth, she did not know either of the females enough to share any insight or foresight, but she had only heard by the mouth of Elariel what Cyrus had been like with his mate and what kind of male he was before her death. It was a male that had become a stranger to the one now pacing and glaring at the Elders. She wasn’t sure whether to snap at him or attempt to approach him less harshly, but with the swirling of her endless thoughts her head would begin pounding. She pondered now whether the likely cause had been her swirling mind or possibly dehydration from all the dancing. She allowed a low growl to escape as a result of the growing pain before turning her gaze toward the male.

“Cyrus.” She’d state softly, approaching the male with a softness that had once been entirely foreign to her yet mild caution.

He was likely consumed in his own thoughts that there was a good possibility he’d snap at her unintentionally. She’d extend a hand toward his shoulder, ever so slightly.

If the male lost himself and directed his anger or frustration towards her, she would refrain from holding it against him but would not hesitate to meet fire with fire. Despite her pregnancy she was still a warrior through and through. With the increased production of hormones running rampant through her body she was all the more lethal now. She had arguably been one of the finest female warriors for her age.

Akith’ki Terosh | Apprentice | Mentions:

Kethryll’ia (Dir.) Sarolta, Ivan, Alvaerelle, Althaea, Cyrus (Indir.)

His eyes were wide, face flushed red as he was led closer to the frey of people beside the pyres, he hoped that from afar that the heat appeared to be the cause. Not the heir leading him joyfully closer into the simmering heat by Akith’ki’s calloused hands. Practically half-dragged across the flattened dirt, he struggled to get his footing right once they actually stopped moving forward. Purple eyes trailed down the back of the heir as he led him along, curious that they had similar symbols emblazoned on their spines, he was caught staring when his smaller counterpart turned to look at him. As Kethryll’ia twirled around to face him, eyes matching the smouldering flame that lurked behind him, Akith’ki’s eyes travelled to the smear of deep sienna paint that had been transferred at their earlier contact. The sight made his cheeks burn hotter. A harsh, jaggard gulp travelled down his throat as he felt hand meet his skin, the feeling foreign. Not unpleasant, simply new and it made his heart pound in anticipation. He could feel the heat pulsing from the other body, spreading across the area he was touching. He knew dances as he had been taught by Althaea on the few feasts he had attended in his life, but he was not the best dancer in the tribe.

The thrumming of drums rippled through his ears as the poor man tried to concentrate on the form pressing up towards him, assuming a standard coupled position, yet the contact threw Akith’ki into a tizzy. He could feel the smallest of shakes in his hands as they matched to Kethryll’ia’s waist, grazing the skin at first before trying to settle into the divots. Unknowingly, Akith had been watching his own hands trying to find their spot, only realising he was starting at Kethryll’ia’s chest for slightly longer than he probably should have. With a short huff of breath, he jolted his head upright, a rod shoved down his vertebrae. He must remain respectful and professional. He repeated the mantra in his head as they began to move, oh but it was becoming difficult to string the words together.

The stimulation of the blistering heat from the fire, the intoxicating music and his partner distracting his mind completely from duty and from the day that lay ahead of them. Is this what it felt like to enjoy these feasts? He had seen from afar but had never ventured out into the throngs of people, he had never been invited before. He realised the latter quickly, suddenly feeling extremely honoured that he had been selected for this dance. Even if the reasoning was not clear to the young man.

As he began to feel his body lull into the flow that Kethryll’ia was setting for them, his eyes beginning to grow softer and pupils growing larger. He felt an icey prick on his back, it felt like a small talon, or perhaps fangs lightly dragging along his skin. A threat and enticing. Akith’ki’s muscles tightened as he felt it, his partner spinning from his hands for a brief moment. Their fingers still intertwined with each others. And in that moment, it felt like the world had slowed. His hair flicking in front of his eyes, a lick of a flame and the burning gaze of Sarolta. She stood to the side, cast in a shadow but he could make out every detail. The way the light from the fire caused her hair to glimmer, her eyes turned bright and piercing, her strong physique highlighted by the harsh light. Akith’ki felt his throat bob. He felt like a deer, one that had just seen his death. A sweet, beautiful death. His eyes lingered on her as Kethryll’ia swung back into his strong arms, colliding roughly with his chest as Akith’ki not moved to the correct position. The force knocked the wind out of him, breaking his trance of Sarolta. Instead, his arms moved to grip Kethryll’ia as he was knocked off balance. His lips drew back into a grimace as he fought to stabilise them. Was it just him or was the music growing faster?

As the tempo skyrocketed, the pair twirled in a mess of limbs. Somehow, managing to keep it looking vaguely like some sort of free styled version at the crescendo. Akith’ki’s eyes were blown wide, pupils slitted as he panicked. An arm looped around Kethryll’ia’s waist and continued around his back. Catching the heir as he tripped one last time and the last strike of the music rang out across the clearing before it was plunged into silence. All but the crackling of the fire beside them met their ears. He had skidded them to a halt, one leg extended further out than the other, arm still wrapped firmly around the heir to keep him from thudding onto his back. His free hand was drawn back, balancing his own weight. From an outside perspective, it may have appeared intentional, a strong show of a dip to end their display, mirroring that of his father’s and Alvaerelle’s who stood behind them.

Akith’ki’s face was rather close to the heirs, his breath bouncing gently back into his own face as it met Kethryll’ia’s skin. Wide purple eyes stared down at him, Akith’ki’s lips were parted, trying to catch his breath after their rather successfully unsuccessful dance. Carefully, his gaze wandered over the face in front of him, first trickling down to his jaw before flicking back up to meet Kethryll’ia’s eyes. After a few moments, he came to his senses. He began to stammer, lifting the heir back up so that he could stand. Akith’ki quickly removed his hands, standing upright, lips trying to form some sort of apology that came out as a garbled mess. As he realised the elders were beginning to talk, he winced.

“I-I am sorry, I did not mean to ruin that dance for you. Again, I apologise.” Akith’ki’s voice was lowered, a gravelled whisper to the man before him. Eyes scanning Kethryll’ia, checking for any injuries he may have attained. There were no injuries, only smears of their paint. From the looks of things, Akith’ki was similarly decorated with the heir’s paint. He prayed that he had not upset him. Kethryll’ia should have chosen someone else.

Fighting the urge to continue his apologies, Akith’ki turned his attention to the elders. His mind was too much of a blur to try and figure out what they were saying. Rhyming sentences that flew right over his head. It was clearly to do with their trials but what it meant, Akith’ki had no idea. What did catch his attention was Ivan’s announcement, eyes snapped to the older heir then to Kethryll’ia to gauge his reaction. While he watched, he heard the shaman Ravae being announced, yet his eyes remained trained on the man before him. He knew Althaea had wanted that position, she would be upset. But he would see her later, they would see each other before he departed on his journey. Right now, Kethryll’ia was in front of him.

Cyrus Terosh | Warrior | Mentions:

Alvaerelle (Dir.) Elders, Ivan, Ravae, Kethryll’ia, Akith’ki, Chieftess (Indir.)

The shifting beneath his skin only grew increasingly uncomfortable as he paced around the female, his lips drawn back almost spitting with anger. It was dangerously close to spilling over. The audacity! They announce Ivan as lieutenant and then to replace his love with Ravae, it was insult after insult. First they take his wife, then they give him a soft son that he had to reshape into a true warrior and now they spit in his face once more. He had had enough of this cruelty. The lack of acknowledgement for those that deserved it. He thought not only of himself, but of the other senior members of the tribe that were constantly sidelined in preference for the meek and inexperienced. Elariel especially, he had devoted his life to his duty and this was the thanks he received. Even Cornaith! The insufferable flirt had worked hard in training and defending the tribe from danger and yet he wasn’t even considered. Cyrus knew that he would not have been chosen, the elders despised him, scorned him. He was a black mark on their heavenly white plans, and Cyrus was determined to let that black ink flow to consume them.

He could feel the anger like a tangible veil over his skin, blurring his surroundings as he stalked. Hands forming tight fists, loosening and then tightening again. He cared little what others thought about his little fit, they hated him anyway. What difference would it make? Cyrus shook his head, a louder snarl ripping from him and darting out from his lips. Electrified with hate, disgust and outright fury, his muscles tensed ready to burst out in a dangerous lash to the first person that confronted him. The itch for a fight crawled under his skin, making it impossible to concentrate. Akith’ki was too young to be placed at the helm of this tribe, he had wished that the heir’s useless mother had not scampered off into the darkness, then Cyrus would have another decade or more to hone his son into the perfect replacement. The Gods did not smile down upon him and his kin, they were cast out.

The disturbance in the air beside him made Cyrus’s feral form freeze, head snapping towards whatever was near him. Lips drawn back over his canines, eyes bright with an ancient animalistic shine, pupils barely visible. His hand began to lift, drawing back to swipe down at whichever tribe member had dared to interrupt him. To confront his justified anger. He had arched his arm above his head and began to strike it down with intent to maim or render unconscious when he caught the pale purple glint of the person's eyes through his red haze. The delicate purple, a beautiful dilution of his deceased wife’s bright jewel toned ones, a stuttering feeling of sorrow ripped through his core as he felt his hand drawing closer to the figure beside him.

Alvaerelle.

His pupils began to expand as he focused on her face, his hand still splayed. His curled lips turning into a panicked grimace, his thrown hand was moving too quickly for him to completely diffuse the aggressive act. Cyrus felt a rising wave begin to overwhelm him. Oh Gods, if he hit her. If he hit her, he would be outcast, killed, mauled who knows. The whole tribe was simply waiting for him to do something like this. He refused to let wait come to an end. He wrenched his shoulder, turning himself at the last moment to barely miss striking down with his full power onto her torso. Instead, his sharpened nails glimpsed the skin of her upper arm that was extended out to him. He felt the drag of flesh. He had not moved far enough. The scent of blood licked at his senses, his eyes flicking to land on the point of contact. A small scratch, a graze. As though she had caught herself on a sharp rock. The power of his swing made him loose footing for the briefest moment, as he purposefully missed his target.

The metallic tang made his eyes widen. What had he done? Cyrus corrected his posture, lips no longer drawn back in anger. Instead his hands were trying to reach for Alvaerelle, eyes wide and mouth contorted into a mix of panic, regret and concern.

“Alvaerelle! Are you okay? I am sorry, I did not mean to-” His ears angled back as his shoulders hunched, trying to get a better look at her injured arm. “I would never-” He couldn’t find his words, his wit and charm leaving him to scramble. “I thought you were someone else. I can get you a wrap and salve.” He spoke quickly, he could feel eyes on him, it was rising his overstimulated state to the point where he could feel his chest caving in itself.