Fenris Little Wolf

His posture is deceptively casual; his torso leans to the right, left hand braced over his knee, right elbow resting on his thigh, feet spread wide before him as he pretends to scrutinize the articulation of his gauntlet. His shoulders are too rigid, and she can see from her vantage point at the doorway the telltale ticking of a muscle in his jaw. Surprised at his seeming lack of awareness, she clicks her nails against the doorjamb, purposely alerting him to her presence. His head shoots up and he straightens up on the bench when he sees her move into the dimly lit vestibule. He is on his feet in one fluid movement, no less graceful for the obvious skittishness in his demeanor.

"I've been thinking about-" his solemn voice stalls for a fraction of a second, "what happened… with Hadriana."

Something about the way he can't seem to look her in the eye has her thinking he meant to say something different. But then he turns to face her fully, and whatever it might have been doesn't matter because there are too many things he could have said, and she knows better than to pull at the wrong thread. With Fenris, that is often too easy to do.

"You and I don't always see eye to eye," his voice is thick with a weariness that goes beyond the physical hardships of recent days. "But that doesn't mean you deserve my anger."

He pauses. His shoulders flex briefly, and he shifts, takes a step in her direction, then quickly takes one back. He's again looking at a point over her shoulder. A second goes by, and he angles his face up, squares his shoulders and tilts up his chin.

"I… owe you an apology," Fenris declares in a grave voice, briefly meeting her eyes. His posture is stern, and it reminds her that it may be the first time since his escape that he acknowledges accountability for another's feelings.