I rest my back against a rough tree as I sit on the cold, damp forest floor. Oliver stands, leaning against the tree to the right of me, his arms crossed. An upset, almost vacant look is plastered across his face. It's nearly easy for anyone to assume he's deep in thought, but then again, I don't know him that well.
It seems like I'm always circling back to that issue: I don't know this guy. What exactly do I know about him anyway?
His age? No. Gender? Duh. Species? Werewolf, I think. Name? All I know is Oliver. Appearance? Pleasing to the eyes.
"Whatcha got going on in that tiny brain of yours?" Oliver, who's now crouched down and face to face with me, asks.
My skin jumps, bringing me to my feet as my attention is brought back to reality, "Why are you so sneaky!"
He furrows his eyebr
