Garrett was, at the core of him, more wolf than man. Despite the tales and legends surrounding them, wolves were unlikely to attack unless provoked, and until that moment that Aedre pressed the knife into his flesh, he saw little reason to allow his temper free rein - but that increased pressure, the knowledge that if he twitched his neck muscles that the edge would break the skin, made his lip curl and his teeth bare, exactly as if he were still on four feet instead of crouching on two. The strange Chasind woman tread dangerous ground, and were she not a female Garrett would not have hesitated to attack. But the influence of the Lady weighed heavily on his shoulders, and she had not harmed him, not yet. If she dared to draw blood, it would swift turn into a nasty and violent conflict, and from the tension humming in his shoulders, tension he knew she could feel, he was ready for it with every molecule of his being. Lightning pressed in his sinuses and on the roof of his mouth, seeking, waiting for the moment it could be loosed.
But her fingers were trembling on the knife when she shifted to keep out of the edge of his vision, and not because she was afraid of fang or claw. What in the name of the Lady was going on here?
"Returned?" He didn't stop trying to catch sight of her, turning his golden head around the other way. There was genuine puzzlement in his voice, but why should there not be? As far as he knew, his people had never ranged this far west or south, never left the Brecillian until the breaking of the curse. "I've never been to the Wilds before, how could I have returned?"