08-16-2010, 10:25 AM
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Larkspur? Her mind drifted back through past conversations to pinpoint where she had heard that name before. When the right face was conjured up she smiled, Harlowe had said it. So this was the uncle who took in that boy? Which also meant this was one of the few pack wolves who had resided in Dahlia de Mai longer than her and whose path she had yet to cross. Well, better late than never. ”’Tis a pleasure to meet you Larkspur.” Ever proper she dipped her head low in greeting, deferring to what she was sure was a higher rank than her own and certainly an advanced age compared to her own scant months. Even as the male was too awkward to greet her as social protocol might require, she ignored it and did as she would, playing her part perfectly. Perfectly until she realized she had yet to answer Larkspur’s question. Why had she so abruptly interrupted him? Crimson eyes strayed down to the dead rabbit once more, but her gaze was devoid of hunger or desire. She did not want the kill, she only wanted to know how he had made the kill. How did one take the life of another? It seemed such a simple matter, one easily determined by genetics, biology and a carnivore’s natural instincts. Why then had such instincts eluded her? ”Is hunting hard?” Not the right question came forth, not exactly. It spoke volumes of a childish naivety and it did not convey what she particularly meant, but she had trouble asking the charcoal male what she really meant, so she simply would wait. They’d work their way to it. |