Woe of a wolf

Orin Takekuro · 08-22-2010, 10:25 PM

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Your opening of that post made me LOL. As you so often do! WC 400+

When all she received in reply was a terse answer, her nose wrinkled and she snorted indignantly. Certainly she didn’t expect Niro, in the state he was in, to spin the yarn in great detail, but he didn’t have to be so short. Then again if thought were really put to it, “hunting accident” was a perfectly acceptable explanation. Being both werewolf and a hunter of his caliber, any number of things could have gone wrong during one of Niro’s forays in the wild. Still, something about the answer pecked at her heart. Perhaps it was the way he said it? She hoped it was only because of the pain he was obviously in.

There was the small warning growl, too, but Niro rumbled and grumbled at her all the time so that wasn’t out of the ordinary. She did take heed and moved her hand off his nape, though, not wanting to distress him any further with the thought that she might start poking and prodding him.

Her first instinct was to get him off of this porch. The wolf instinct in the back of her mind nagged at her to move him, get him upstairs and to a room where his injuries could mend. Showing weakness was never a good idea for a wolf. Yet her instinct was contradicted by the safe balm of Pack mentality, and the community that she relied on in the Court of Miracles.

“When did it happen? Have you been seen by a healer?” She leaned around him, but was sure not to jostle him. Her eyes locked onto his injured leg. “And what are you doing out here?”

She settled in cross-legged next to her brother, her face pursed with worry. Nimble hands snatched her pack and soon produced the leather-bound journal Niro had gifted her on their birthday. She set it on the boards next to her and wildly flipped through the pages, not pausing to search for a table of contents. The content within her journal was a mishmash of information, but she knew exactly what page she was looking for.

“How much pain are you in? Have you eaten?” Though her tone and movements were classic Orin, the level headedness with which she approached the situation was a little more mature than could have been expected of her in the past. As she skimmed the pages with her eyes she idly tied back her thick hair using one of the dreadlocks as a tie – wherever she had been, it was probably someplace without a mirror. Her hair was in need of maintenance and a color refresh, it had faded to a light baby-pink and her roots were showing.

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