Whiteclaw

There is a friend of mine, a handsome troll, called Whiteclaw. He is known as Glenshadow to others. His mane is an impressive ivory color. His nickname originated because as a druid, he sometimes takes the form of a great cat with a white crown of hair.

Our relationship is an interesting one because both of us understand and employ deadly power quite often. We know it is necessary in order to protect our families. Yet he is also a friendly sort, unflappable in his demeanor at most times, and I am fond of him. I even tease him. It is a bit like a small black cat batting at the tail of an enormous tiger, for its effect.

I believe this has created the perception that he and I are romantically involved; however this is not the case. He did once make an offer, but once his tusks no longer threatened my neck, I declined as respectfully as I could. My reason is, quite obviously, because I am paired already. For him, I also believe that no female alive could replace his departed mate.

Since then we have remained friends and allies. Although he still owes me an answer to the tackle I dispensed the other day, and I anticipate some bruises when retribution comes. Oh, but he did deserve to be knocked from his perch. And so will I.