<div class="floatright">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/c4/99/6f/c4996f9f2ea069dc7a9698fdd48040f9.jpg)<div align="center"><strong><em>Liadian o'Braonán </em></strong></div></div>He appeared just as she had known he would, where she had first espied his magic coalescing in the middle of the pathway. That he positioned himself between her now hidden form and that of the interloper was no shock, he was ever a protective mentor and had snarled once when one of the wolves had accidentally bitten her during a romp. Now in face of true danger he reacted like he would have for any thing he viewed his property, though, she recalled the kisses they had shared over the past year, the building heat between them and allowed herself a moment of feeling that his protectiveness was also due to who she was to him, his<em>Asthore</em>.<br/><br/>For all the near danger the stranger presented the redhead's breath still caught upon the sight of Conri in all his dark, otherworldly glory. There was no one like him, not with his feral shadows, with that glint in his eyes that promised both mischief and affection for her. And her parents wished her to wed the butcher's son. It was impossible, after tasting the beloved decadence of his lips against her own, knowing the thrumming in her blood he stirred. Attempting to gaze at him as the stranger might Liadian supposed he might seem fearsome, so tall and proud, with those dark, knowing eyes, the flowing midnight hair and his spiraling horns. But she loved each of those things, for they were<em>him</em>, and for her they meant home, rather than terror.<br/><br/>Conri replied to her passionate retort at the notion of allowing the interloper anything, though she was silenced when he mentioned servitude. Was that then what she was to him, a pretty plaything, a servant? What lay between them was unspoken, in part no doubt because she did return to the family she fit with less and less each fortnight. The lass was too proud to admit her insecurities, or to ask for what the immortal fae could not give to a human who would likely live only a blink of an eye for him. And so she sheathed her dagger, and her tongue, waiting in silence with an ache in her heart and only a dim interest in what truth her mentor might offer to the other male.<br/><br/>A bitter laugh rose within her at the quote of scripture she had long since ceased to believe in, after all she could read well the lines that wove through the translations, now that Conri had taught her to read in years past. There was no God, surely, at the height of the worship offered him but another immortal being hungry for power in a world that no longer held to the old ways.<strong>"No being, however powerful, truly knows all." </strong>Liadian did not put an effort to disguise her scorn for so foolish a thought, the male content to be a sheep led to the slaughter it seemed. Yet when he spoke of his life not being his own the maiden felt a stirring of empathy perhaps, because her life had been her wolf lord's for years now. The scent of bright, coppery blood slid through the air; a stark contrast to the rich loam of the forest, with it's green growing life.<br/><br/>When at last the stranger deigned to reply to Conri's offer rather than simply protest it Liadian laughed in truth, a husky, bubbling sound that filled the air, tinged with mirth.<strong>"Why, my lord mentor, he weaves as pretty as you in his speech. No wonder you thought to deal with him."</strong>