The worgen snorted, grinning slightly as he noted her wiggling shoulders. Deciding to test the waters, he lifted his hand again, gliding his claw over the soft skin of her jaw, back toward her sharply pointed ear. The motion stopped just shy, dipping to trace down her neck teasingly before his hand fell away.<br/><br/>"Nae, I said et was 'poetic', not poetry, per se," he remarked. "I've nae gift faer intentionally deep works, just occasionally delve into deeper matters." Pondering her words, he opened the book again, retrieving his pencil and resuming his sketching.<br/><br/>"Dinnae get me wrong, I relish the cries of a woman in th' throes of passion, especially if<i>I'm</i>th' one tha' got her there." He frowned at the page he was on, then flipped to a fresh one. "And I'll let the remark about it being hard tae see things o' beauty an' wotnot. What I seek is a connection. Something more lasting than the press of needy flesh to needy flesh." Bending his head to the book, he began something new, working in silence, leaving her hanging a moment before he went on.<br/><br/>"It's this," he said, tapping his chest over he heart with the pencil. "Whene'er I was with a fem o'er th' last bit o' time, was never as a human, always as the beast. An' when they were never with Teryus, they with "a worgen". Could've easily been some other bastard wot got bit, I just 'appened tae be in their sights first." The last statement was definitely bitter, the worgen's brow furrowing as he spoke.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>