He stabs a piece of chicken with his fork and places it in his mouth, after chewing he says, "I sent a letter to the council."
"Already?" I ask, astonished at his speed.
"I told you I would."
"You also said I had to stay near the pack house."
He looks at me curiously. "I did."
"But you never said anything about a guard, nor did I ever agree to one before."
"You had guards before." He sets down his fork, looking a tad cross.
"We didn't have an understanding before." I say, my voice getting a little heated.
"You didn't have psychotic-maniacs after you before." He counters.
"I'm not a child."
"No you're not." A look of confusion crosses his face. "You know, I don't even know how old you are."
And just like that, the tension between us leaves.
"I'm twenty-three." I bite my bottom
