Finch was rather surprised by Adelaida’s response to his questions. She thought he was joking around? He didn’t think he had said anything funny. It rather bothered him that there might be something funny going on that he wasn’t aware of. It also bothered him that she hadn’t answered the only important really important question he’d asked (although, he supposed the level of difficulty of swimming was fairly important, too) and he still didn’t know if she was a wolf or not. Logic said she was: she’d called him ‘coyote’, and she looked like she could be another species. He’d just have to assume she was.
“No,” Finch replied honestly, although not at all apologetically, “I’m not mocking you.” With a quick hop, he was down off his rock and standing in the dirty grey sand of the shore. He wriggled his toes, liking the feel of the fine grains, slightly warmed by the sun, rubbing on the pads of his feet. Why had he been standing on a rock instead of nice sand?
Finch’s jump had unintentionally shortened the distance between himself and the wolf. He didn’t consider it a minatory action, but then, he never actually considered possible dangers. Intentional or not, he was now likely within a single lunge of Adelaida. He grinned at her again, his tail giving a happy wag, and gave an odd little bob of his head which might have been translated as a bow. “The name’s Kirin, Kirin Kassarian, but mostly I just go by Finch. And I’m just here to watch the seamonsters.”
That’s it, Finch thought, suddenly excited, this wolf can kill the seamonsters! She could be the hero, she was big and strong enough. Hey, maybe she was even considered attractive for a wolf, though Finch still couldn’t see it. She could definitely, however, use some work on her charisma. Even Finch could tell she was about as good at being polite as he was. You’d almost think she wasn’t even trying to be nice! But wait, were wolves allowed to be heroes? They’d always been the villains in his mother’s (terribly mediocre) stories, always defeated in the end by the clever and quick heroes, and he’d never once heard a story where the wolf did anything brave or honorable. Maybe it was another of those unspoken rules that seemed to thrive in the gap between species: heroes had to be coyotes. Perhaps he could find a way to work the wolf into his story as a villain…? Perhaps she could be in league with his imaginary seamonsters? |