When he heard there was a familiar face back at camp, he felt furious. Anger filled his blood in a heat rivaled by the flames that span the forge’s furnace. Viorel was quiet as he stormed over, features cold and muscles tense. Sorin bounded by his side yet lacked a common ‘glee’ found in canine eyes. The shepherd was concentrated, not looking for a treat but a command instead.
Three more steps and the sharp crack of knuckles to jaw resounded in the air. Viorel’s fist collided with Ender’s jaw and his eyes hardened a fraction more. You left. Trădător. It was only after he completed the swing, staring him down, that it didn’t feel right. Not in the moral-way, but tactile, retribution-like fashion. This wasn’t the man that dumped their friendship and left. This was a stranger; who?
“Who are you?”
@sharpestlxves
