There was something intensely strange and also alluring about the youth; the hybrid still could not figure out his percentage, despite mulling over it in these moments. He was small, and she mistook that for youth—the hybrid did not think that the coyote hybrid before her was a full seven months old. She would have said five or even four months at best—the coyote woman had never seen a jackal before, not to her knowledge anyway. She could not identify that aspect of his heritage, but at his words, her good eyebrow shot up, and the look upon her face changed, warming infinitely—though it had already been quite warm, as she was always sweet to puppies.
“Then you know who I am,” she responded, knowing Samael would have described her down to every last nick in her fur if he had contact with this youth. He knew the star—that was enough for her. “And you know what this place is,” the coyote said, slowly. He was older than Samael's absences, so his existence did not entirely explain the red-eyed man's disappearance. “Where is your father?” the hybrid woman queried, vague worry crossing her face. He had disappeared in the midst of a crisis, and though the coyote knew his ties to Inferni changed on his whim, she had worried that something worse had happened.
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