The icy grey sky restlessly grumbles as clouds part with a sigh, roaring rain pounding on the men, reflecting the hazardous yet calm anger that brews within the warlord.
The harsh rain obliterates the crystal reflection of the sky and turns it into a disoriented haze that only sharpens his senses further acutely, and as darkness shifts, so does his reptilian calculative eyes - drifting from one man's face to another.
In the dimness of his mind, Hadrius feels his wolf rise on its haunches, shifting the thinness of skin that struggles to maintain his human form. He is hot to the touch, firm lips twitching with a spasm of vexation.
Anger is an understatement, fury itself seems nothing more than a speck of dust before the warlord's building temper. Knowing that one of his men had touched a
