Her shifting body weight and arms practically strangling him caused his eyes to open perhaps a bit wider than he was ready for out of reflex, and the old Immortal very nearly found himself hissing. It was only because of his lips pressing together that he muffled the sound from squeezing out from between his teeth. There was something, however, about her enthusiasm that did not go unappreciated in some recess of his mind. After all… There was a time not so long ago that he had had the consideration that being babied by a beautiful woman wasn’t the most awful thing to happen to a man. Then again, these thoughts were far from conscious ones.

The next, almost overwhelming senses that Connor became aware of were the papery feeling to his lips, and what felt like an empty pit having replaced his stomach. Fortunately, the elder werewolf in the room seemed to have anticipated one of those issues. He found himself taking up that offered cup of water and drawing it to his lips before he’d managed to sit up entirely. It was a wonder he didn’t snort or choke himself with how thirsty he felt; fortunately, with so long to live, he was not unaware of the patience needed. Small sips. He relished the moisture on his lips and tongue, feeling quite literally like a man in the desert.

It was between small sips that he seemed to be coming fully back to his senses, the liquid seeming to help flow some life back into him. Branwen’s weight restricted his feet at the end of the bed, as they pressed the cover down. Her father lingered by, silent and observant. He cleared his throat, attempting to clear the thickness he anticipated in his speech. Even then, his voice was husky, as his eyes flicked from the she-wolf to her father. “A little groggy, but nothing that won’t improve with a little time. Much better than before.” Absently glancing down to his collar, he at once noticed how markedly improved his injury look. A brow arched slowly, before his eyes diverted to Branwen’s father. He could just barely remember him having promised help. “I presume you…? Thank you-“ His words briefly hitched as he searched for the name he had only heard briefly. -Gaius.”

Connor watched as Branwen stepped away, and returned with food. In that instant, his eyes seemed to widen and brighten ever so slightly. The way to a man’s heart was certainly through his stomach. Perhaps not his own heart, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t want to partake in the offering. At once he took up the place, grasping the leg between his fingers before ripping a chunk clean from the bone with his teeth. As the hunger really set in, something he really only became more aware of with the food in his mouth, it became a struggle to tear his mind away from the food enough to respond to Gaius.

Deftly raising his palm to cover his mouth, the Immortal seemed to consider a moment before responding, seemingly finishing chewing. “Probably not. I’m fairly private about my personal affairs…” Well, if they wanted to have an opportunity to kill him, they had it. But he suspected they would’ve taken it already if they had really wanted it. Or Branwen had simply not allowed it. If only he knew how close he was to guessing, particularly after the older Werebeast’s suggestion.

The man was not abashed in polishing off the rest of the meal in the short span of silence that followed, before his head tilted at the man’s comment. His brow rose silently, lingering the arched position, before his features smoothed. Sipping water, he set to rolling the cup between his fingers before he addressed what felt like a silent accusation. “I told her I’d take care of the situation. Some petty human foiling that promise didn’t mean that she owed me anything. It meant that I was keeping my word.” His response was level, though his eyes lingered in some silent conversation with the wild-haired man.
With Branwen’s little quip, his head tilted. If the Commander’s expression could’ve been more unamused at her words, his face might’ve crumbled in half. “Well, unless you haven’t been telling me something, I think I won’t worry about it too much.” Werebeasts; there was no way, unless their Goddess had gifted them some other odd ability beyond shape transformation and the mate bond. No, there was no way. He had been alive far too long to even suspect. “I rather like… my longevity in any case. I’d rather not…”

Connor watched Branwen rise, lips pressing slightly as she passed by. The air around her, even in his groggy state, felt irritated. Hostile. Even the way she carried herself seemed to bely some greater state of irritation. Perhaps it might have been wise to acknowledge her in that moment, to seek to temper her irritated feelings. But, that thought was not one her readily observed. Instead, he seemed a touch more occupied with the interaction between he and the elder Werebeast.

Brushing the sheet aside, he shifted to swing his legs to the floor. He didn’t extend his hand to meet Gaius’, even as his was offered and promptly retracted. Something of a dark smile twisted the Immortal’s lips, before he shook his head. “From what we can guess from the last week, it doesn’t seem like it affects you.” It obviously meaning that unnamed, strange feeling that the man had described, and you implying Werebeasts in the general sense. Of course, he hadn’t the slightest inkling of intention in wanting to elaborate on that. The last thing the Commander needed was his mate’s father knowing of his gift, rural and hermit-like as he was. The man was not ‘mated’ to him. He had no supernatural obligation or predisposition toward protecting him. If Branwen had told him… well perhaps he would discuss not doing that with her.

Inhaling a breath and steeling himself, the man put his hands on his knees before using them to push off of as he leveraged himself to his full height. For the briefest of moments, he closed his eyes as dark spots flooded his vision and the room pitched. Fortunately, that moment was enough to steel him into stability. Eyes opening, the amber tones of his irises were briefly illuminated by the flame of the nearby fire. “Thank you for offering the supplies. I have some coin I can offer in exchange.”

His hands stretched up to press his fingertips firmly against the back of his neck as he tilted his head with an audible popping sound. A moment more, and his gaze settled on the ground at his bedside, where he spied his pack. Reaching for it, propping a hand on the bed, he sought out a clean roll of clothing – and gloves - before his eyes glanced toward Branwen’s father. “I’m going to go bathe…”

The pond, outside. He just briefly remembered seeing it on the way in. Not wanting to linger for any significant time with the man, that was, wanting to avoid any questions from him, he excused himself with a nod. Finding his feet feeling more and more stable beneath him as he travelled to and outside of the doorway, he’d only gone a short way out – still shirtless – when from the corner of his eye he spotted Branwen with the horses. His mare was tethered… with her ears pinned in irritation.

The corner of his mouth twitched, the fingers of his free hand settling between his lips as he produced a short, sharp whistle. At once, her head craned is his direction. Watching him, ears perked, she puffed a huge breath. To Branwen, still with a lingering smile, he called out. Perhaps… it might be a way to ease into conversation about that had happened with her father. “Thank you for managing with her. I know she isn’t the easiest to deal with.”

Well, perhaps getting information about what had happened in his slumber wouldn’t be the easiest right of the bat. He found himself schooling his features as she turned and offered her quip. It did not take much to put two and two together; whether or not he thought she was legitimately in the right to be upset with him was another story. Then again, he had hardly been in any type of position to deal with such feelings romantically. And she was very, very young- Were they romantic? Well, she likely felt as such with the mate bond. He was inclined to spending time with her, it wasn’t as if her company was poor, but he didn’t,,, want to get close. It wouldn’t end well for either of them.

Hell, this entire situation was questionable right then. The only reason the Army wouldn’t question it was because they had no idea of his location. As that thought came to mind, he almost grumbled at the need to craft a tale. Brushing the thought aside, he regarded the blue-eyed woman beside their mounts.

“You and I both know I’m worse than she is. It’s why she doesn’t do that to me.” Connor’s response was accompanied with a fleeting eyeroll, though the hint of his smile still played on his lips. He shifted his clothing to drape over his shoulder by reply to the next comment, though she might’ve just noticed the most fleeting glimmer in his eye. “Oh, I’ll definitely drown if you don’t help me.”

No, he was not going to test the male Werebeast that was only a short leap away. But he had thoughts in mind to help remedy her frustration. It might’ve involved causing her more at first, but she’d see his intention if she conceded to his way.

Connor nodded toward the pond, gesturing for her to tag along before he made his way over to the small reservoir of water. It was far from the depth of the one he had seen at Solara’s, certainly not offering any meaningful room to swim, but would definitely hold up to the task. Lumping his clothes into an unceremonious pile on shore, the man cast a glance down to his pants briefly. After three days… it seemed best to simply wade in and give them a wash too. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a change in any case. And so, he stepped forward, where he quickly found he essentially needed to kneel to submerge himself. With the grinding sensation in his muscles upon taking the more relieving position, he absently wondered how he might get out.

Leaning forward to dunk his head and rub his eyes, he sat up a moment later, a little heavy in breath, before he called out to her. “Can you hand me the soap from my things?”

He regarded her from where she stood at the perimeter of the pond, about to take the soap from her hand despite the skepticism heavy in her voice. Surprisingly, however, she instead climbed in and waded to where he was kneeling. She even went so far as to help him lather and wash his skin and hair, something he didn’t expect, but not which was unappreciated. His eyes lowered, lids heavy over them as he let himself enjoy the feeling of her nails working the soap through his scalp, and the feeling of her palms on his flesh. It was her extending the soap for him to take, and her quietly uttered sentence, that caused them to open.

Interesting. Gaius might’ve been trying to guess, but it seemed like the worst he’d have been able to figure out would’ve come from Connor’s own words, or through directly touching him. And even then, those bits of evidence were largely up to interpretation. Exhaling a small breath, Connor produced a small, throaty sound of acknowledgement. “Thanks.” His tone came quietly, he also being aware of the Werebeast that was so close nearby behind the cabin walls.

He had just bowed his head to dunk himself, sufficiently satisfied for the moment with his bath, when her words reached his ears. At once, the Commander’s brows furrowed as his entire motivation for following her once again resurfaced. Turning her head to study her face, his lips pressed together before he rose to his full height. “Stop being like that. You’re hardly the first person or the last to injure me, intentionally or otherwise. You aren’t going to kill me. That’s absurd.” Granted, coming from someone who had essentially been comatose for three days, that didn’t mean much. Seeming to think of that, he exhaled a thin breath, seeming to grow a little grumpy. “I’m a lot harder to kill than you might assume.” Goddess, why was he trying to convince her?

And then came the reddening of her face, and the thin, restricting hitch to the tone of her voice. She would miss him. Well that was not a first for him to hear, but the way in which she said it… That way he had not heard before. Branwen sounded morose, as though she were losing something. Which was quite odd, considering he killed a great much of people, and had far from the same regard for her than what she felt for him. Regardless, his eyes fell to where her nails were biting angry crescents into the flesh of her arm. She was just turning, presumably to grab his towl, when he extended a hand to rest atop hers. Gently, his fingers tried working her own from where they bit at her skin. His tone that followed was… kinder, more patient, despite his frustration with her. “Don’t hurt yourself, alright? Enough of that. Not over me. You know you’re perfectly well and able to contact me, and it’s not like this has to be the last time we… visit.”

What in the hell was he saying? He scarcely recognized himself. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t pity. It was a feeling that was hard to identify, perhaps closest to a sense of empathy derived from one wanting something which they were not able to keep. His lips pressed together, before he tried a small smile. “Will you help me get out of the forest? Alvina is liable to… not be the happiest if we run into her again.”

Connor’s eyes stated clearly that he didn’t believe her lame excuse, though his expression was more controlled. Still kind, still patient. With her question that followed, he seemed to pause himself for a moment. Well. Had he gotten himself into some type of proper mess? Probably. But there was also something enjoyable about seeing someone who was seemingly unaffected by his abilities. And she had a type of animalistic gusto that he found quite attractive, when she didn’t cave in to being scared of it. His fingers stopped moving from where they’d tried working her nails from her skin, though his touch lingered. “Well… yes. You do. I don’t mind as long as we take care in it, anyway.”

Trouble. He was asking for a lot of it at that rate.

She seemed to withdraw as she stepped away to get his towel, and as he finished washing himself, he found some struggle with trying to manage his frustration with the way she seemed to let her feelings drive her. Hypocritical in a way, given his own frustrations were besting him. He was about to say something when she presented his towel with a dry comment and a faint smile. “Good.” He spoke in a mock, lofty tone. “Though I think Alvina could kill me quicker than any cold.” Taking the fabric, he absently cupped water to flick at her with one palm as he climbed from the pond. “If you really are set on it… Alvina might be able to help you actually.” The idea had come from out of the blue. In fact, he spoke it almost without thought. “She has a reputation for taking in Werebeasts from all over. That was part of what made her dangerous in war; she was unpredictable in that way.”