[If it is, there's plenty of opportunity for Wren to call it off. Teren is still standing behind her, winding a strand of hair around one long finger, hanging a bit closer and, of course, as tall as she is, looming a bit.

There's a definite amusement radiating from her as the Templar becomes tongue-tied, and before too long, Teren's dark fingertips are tracing Wren's jawline.]

Our own sort of power, [she thoughtfully, yet firmly decides,] which they know well to fear.