I do not like seeing my reflection. I never did as a child. I always wondered what would happen if I didn’t have the crimson mark along my forehead. Would Mother have stayed in Iromar with me and watched me grow up? Would Mother revoke her promise and allow me to leave Iromar, walk by her side, and grow within the wild and untamable loner lands. Did Mother leave me behind because I carried the curse mark her former pack believed she had? There are lots of possibilities, but I truly do not know them. When I see my reflection in the river or lakes I try not to stare at myself, because I am ashamed. Though ever since my attack within the Grotto I do stare at my reflection for a tiny it longer, but not too much. I have noticed that the scars across the left side of my face is almost similar to my own Mothers’. I do not know how she got hers, but in a very melancholy way…I like knowing I have this similar flaw upon my face. Though I still do not look upon my face for long. I just…can’t.

I keep my eyes on the brute though. I keep them steady on him. I am not very trusting of others. He is a bit bigger than me, and I know how to defend myself, but only to an extent. Mother taught me to hunt and kill, but she did not teach me how to protect myself. Perhaps because she assumed I would never leave the swamp lands and that I would always be surrounded by my pack mates. They would protect me. At least I think they would. Yet I cannot think of such things now. I am by myself. Here. Alone. My Savior is not here. She cannot protect me. I will have to do this myself. I will have to keep him away from me, but I am not sure how. As I stand here with my head lowered to the water I remain standing still. I do not want to move, or maybe, I cannot move because I am nervous. Though I try not to appear that way. I notice how he looks at me with those sickly yellow eyes, he saunters over to me and my audits prick forward to listen to him speak. I left my ebony skull as I watch him lower his head to lap up some of the water. Softly I speak to him, my voice impassive as I state my opinion in a factual manner.

“I do not have a pretty face.”

It is true. I do not see males approaching those with their face slashed. I note the sound of his voice and I notice how he contorts his face into a friendly manner. I have met friendly wolves and he does not look like one. I take a few tentative steps backwards, away from the lake’s shore, wanting to keep the distance far between us. I never met another wolf bow so very very low. I am not a creature to be bowed at, that belongs to someone like an Alpha, or a well-respected wolf. I am neither of these things. Intense violet eyes remained locked on his as I stand tall and firm, my voice slightly apprehensive as I try to keep it low and in control.

“You can go back in the water Malignus. I am okay, I wasn’t going to stay long.”