True Colors

GAHRYE

Gahrye froze. Shaw, still fifteen feet away, began towards them, his eyes strangely fixed on Gahrye. The male smelled wary and fearful—also determined. Gahrye settled on the balls of his feet, ready to fight.

"Uncle Shaw, what are you doing?" Kalle asked, her voice a touch too high.

"He isn't to cross again. He's angered them, I'm sorry," Shaw muttered. 

Gahrye wasn't sure Kalle was close enough to have heard him. "Sorry for what?" he spat. 

Shaw made it to a few feet in front of him and stopped, his throat bobbing. Gahrye's arms were far longer and he'd trained. Surely this male didn't think he could—

"Shaw, what are you sorry about?" Kalle asked stepping towards him.