“Madam.”
“Why did you come?”
“You called.”
“Do not lie to me. Never to me. I did not call you. I merely opened the door. You came on your own.”
“Heh. I have an itch. Your hall holds promise to scratch it, Madam.”
“So does the one you call ‘Esse’.”
“His hall is closed to me. Yours is open. Madam.”
“No one comes here unless bidden, or there is a price to pay for such… arrogance.”
“Yes, Madam.”
“A price you wish to pay.”
“Yes, Madam.”
“Why?”
“Some itches should be tended to, before they cause such consternation, that they destroy the one itching. Madam.”
“But in the scratching of that itch, the sufferer could be destroyed just as thoroughly.”
“Yes, Madam. Better then, that the sufferer chooses the method of scratching while there is cognition enough to make the safer choice. For if the itch is allowed to choose the method of its destruction, it will not cease until the sufferer is destroyed as well. I have an itch, Madam. I know what will happen if I ignore it for too long. Esse is not available, but you are. I have invaded your hall, with weapon drawn and armor in place. I have an addiction that requires feeding. I place myself captive in your hands, Madam. I yield to my captor.”
“I am told you are a Raven, of such that even the Valkyries of Esse’s realms are antagonistic towards you.”
“Yes, Madam.”
“No. You are not.”
“No, Madam.”
“Come here, Wolf. Keep your sword drawn and your shield mounted. Come here and let me feed you with a kiss.”
Was that blood or pomegranate? I never can tell with her.
“Wolf. My wolf. My Scarlet Wolf. Have you the scent of your prey?”
“I do, Madam.”
“Then retrieve it, and bring it to me.”
“As my Lady commands.”