The store front was incredibly crowded that day...

Mostly...with women.

Farkas felt incredibly awkward.

He turned his eyes to the door, not for the first time wondering if he simply should just turn around and leave. What was he doing in here, anyway? Yes, it was the opening of her shop- and yes, she had hand-written an invitation and sent it by courier to him in Jorrvaskr (though why, he didn't know; perhaps she had thought that he was away). And yes, he hadn't seen her in almost a week, even though he'd come by almost every day...it's not like he missed her, or anything. He was just here for the food, drink, and simple curiosity. For Ysgramor's sake, she stabbed him with needles and griped at him if he moved too much. She ate too little and sat too straight and was far, far too polite...

….She laughed all the time, too, and took great pride and effort into her work. Even though he'd never seen her do it, he was well aware that sometimes she stayed up into the wee hours of the work redoing needlepoint by hand just because one seam was out of line. She made tailoring seem like it was easy, even though it was nothing he could even begin to wrap his head around. All those details, all that cloth...to him, pointless. Cloth did nothing to protect the wearer, and only served for modesty's sake. But when she was working, she made it seem like the most important thing in the world. Like one stitch could mean the difference between life or death.

Belatedly, he realized that the girl-Celeste- approached cloth like Eorland Gray-mane approached steel.

That was it, he thought. He liked her because she reminded him of Eorland. The rest of these people, here, however...

The shop was filled to the brim with everyone in town, dressed in their finest. While Farkas' 'finest' happened to be a white linen top and black cloth slacks that didn't fit right, far too tight on him, everyone else's best seemed to have every inch of them embroidered. Most of them were wearing fancy jewels, and he'd gotten more than one look of, Oh...why are -you- here...? Tonight. Clearly, Celeste had underplayed her party's...formality.

He decided, then, and stood. He'd been here long enough and had taken his share of embarrassment. He had started to leave, when finally, finally he heard her voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen.."

He slowly turned around, towards the direction of the voice...

"Thank you so much for coming..."

….And his eyes widened...

"...To Celestial Cloths. My name is Celeste, and I've just relocated here from Cyrodiil. I want to thank you all for the beautiful, warm welcome! It warms my heart to know I'll be serving such fine people as yourselves..."

Applause. Celeste smiled and looked over the crowd...and when her eyes met his, a full-on blush graced his cheeks. The first thought that crossed his mind, was,

…And...she keeps her word once it's given. I should have taken her seriously.

She looked absolutely magnificent. He could not comprehend the amount of work that went into that dress- with a bosom-accentuating bodice and a full skirt, the dress was in a pale, pale blue, and embroidered with silver. She wore a silver circlet imbedded with moonstones across her pale forehead. She must have spent all afternoon getting her hair into those perfect waves, and her makeup was professional, accentuating her natural beauty without drawing too much attention. The focus was on the detail of the dress, but he couldn't get his off of her face.

"And besides," He muttered to himself, "There's no dress in the world pretty enough for me to notice it over the woman wearing it."

Especially not this woman. He was no longer paying attention to what she was saying, studying instead the curve of her face, the brightness of her eyes. The way her skin seemed to glow, and she flowered under the attention.

"...She's such a simple-looking girl," Someone said, "But all the better to model the beauty of her dresses, I suppose."

He growled deeply, a guttural, hateful sound, and a momentary hush settled over the crowd. The woman in question who had made the comment started at him fearfully, and at the fear his wolf truly awakened. Had he not had so much practice in controlling his wolf, he knew he would have slaughtered the useless being there and then. This feeling was something he did not understand: this fierce protectiveness that wanted him to kill for the sake of another's feelings. The others looked around to figure out where the sound had come from, but Celeste had come prepared.

"And without further ado," She proclaimed, her voice a little louder, "I unveil to you my collection. You will find clothing styles from every province, for every race." She turned- the back of her dress had a sheer bow that somehow managed to be modest, yet tasteful at the same time, but it wasn't the bow Farkas looked at when she turned.

It was about that time, when he realized what he was doing, when he began to feel afraid.

She pulled open the curtains, to reveal the first floor of the shop. "The first floor," She announced, "Is dedicated to the latest fashions in Skyrim. The second floor is Cyrodiil, and all the other provinces have their sections on the third floor. If you wish to purchase anything, I would ask you to please come back tomorrow. Tonight is a night for drinking, celebration, and hospitality. Thank you again for your attending, and please continue to partake of food in drinks...in the designated area."

There was a small collection of laughter, and Celeste's smile almost seemed to catch the light. She gives a small bow, and as people start to wander around the newly unveiled shop, she sees him – although he supposes he is not hard to miss in his current outfit – and walks toward him.

His heart races, and what he feels is fear, the blush creeping across his cheeks. What is this...why am I afraid of this tiny imperial with no combat skills whatsoever? Why am I afraid of her in a woman with a dress so expensive it probably tarnishes with mere breath, in a room full of witnesses?

He looks away, and towards the door, then back at her. She looks confused for a moment- but then she is distracted with a woman wishing to complement her work, presumably. As usual, Farkas followed his first instinct. As soon as her gaze was off of him, he turned and left. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he felt a deep relief, the fear vanishing. As soon as the fear vanished, however, he became aware of a deep, driving, painful need.

The need to change.

Without a second thought, he bolted for the gates.

"Farkas?"

Her voice stopped him only for a minute...

I can't face her, he thought, and then he ran towards the gates again.

"Farkas!" Her voice sounded confused, even hurt, and the tone in her voice killed him, but he used the pain and growing self-loathing to make it to the gates. Hurriedly, he hissed, "Stop her," The the guards, before bolting out of the gates and into the night, in a bid for desperate freedom.

His lupine hearing picked up on the guards doing exactly as he asked- stopping Celeste from going out into the night after him. He did not know if it had been necessary – the guards would generally dissuade any townspeople from going out after dark anyway, especially alone – but he knew that if he asked them they would stop her, no matter what. Being a Companion had its advantages.

Another one of the "advantages" overtook him then, too, his wolf finally ripping its way out of its cage, the change upon him as soon as he was far enough away from city lights. The sensation was always that of exhilaration, adrenaline, freedom, and the most delicious pain- the same kind you got from exercising long and hard, the same soreness afterward that lingers in your bones like a job well done.

He let out a long, hard howl to the night sky, and hunted that night. And perhaps, the next, too. His anger, frustration, and confusion overtook him as he laid waste to any and all of those not of innocent blood that dared to cross him those nights, and had he kept track, he possibly could have collected several bounties upon returning.

But the only thing on his mind was how to forget her, how to stop seeing her, and how to get his emotions back under control- or at least, how to find out what was happening to him and stop it. And that began with letting out all of his frustration on the wilds, bandits, and other unsavory monsters of Skyrim.

He lost track of time. He didn't know how many nights or days he was out there- it felt like an eternity, but then, it always did. He didn't know how long it took to exhaust his wolf-brother, for he seemed strong that night, stronger than Farkas himself, even. The sensation was almost like being new-blood again, the same unfamiliarity and lack of control haunting him, and he indulged it as much as he dared until he dropped to the damp ground under a rock, and curled up, instantly asleep from exhaustion.