Foul Temper

"And you think you can lead a pack." The woman's words were icy and her gaze was even more so. "A good leader wouldn't wallow in pity. A good leader would do everything in his power to return to full strength so that he might protect his lands and his people." She stood, hackles raised. The thick grey and white mane at the back of her neck bristled and stood on end. Her nose wobbled and lips peeled back to expose pristine white teeth. No doubt she didn't look threatening at all, but god dammit, she was livid.

"Instead, you're in here squalling like a pup. You mistreat those who's only crime is to care about your well being. You should be ashamed to call yourself a warlord. Or any kind of Lord for that matter." Still bristled, Iolaire paced back and forth in front of him. "Did you know that the supplies for the Empire are dwindling? Deathbelle fears starvation by the time we're able to go home." Again those icy pools flashed at him. "You could be done healing in time to hunt, refill our stores and make a difference. Instead you're in here throwing yourself a pity party." She stopped and stared hard. "Did you know that I've been hunting nice and rabbits to give to Deathbelle just to make sure that her children are fed?" Couldn't he see how utterly stupid he was being?

With a shake of her head and a low growl of disgust, the diminutive fae turned and began to stalk away.