Word Count » 423 Out of Character Text
His sparseness from the pack would have surely been noticed by now. Then again, he wasn’t favored much compared to his Aunt Tlantli. So there was a higher possibility than he first assumed that his boyish absence had gone overlooked. Since finding serenity in the high stone tower, Citlali rarely left. He had no desire to escape to the outdoors and make acquaintances. By now, he supposed that newer Family wasn’t aware of his residence or those who had seen him around believed he didn’t have a voice at all.
By the time dusk had settled upon Salsola territory, the boy’s hands ached from his work. A shallow scar wound its way across his left palm and continued shortly before stopping above his thumb. It was still fresh, and burned from where the knife had grazed his tawny fur on accident. After the incident, the coyote continued to work on the thick band mingled with beads. The weave required deep concentration and a great blade to loosen a strand and attach a bead. Citlali flexed his injured hand and winced while he stood, feeling the stiffness in his youthful muscles. There was brief movement outside the cracked and dusty window of the tower. He made his way carefully over just in time to hear the bottomless howl of Sirius. The boy fingered his white bracelet nervously; a developing habit.
Stepping into the night was a challenge. Shadows of gathering figures headed towards the ruin could be sensed yet not quite distinguished. Citlali looked about fretfully, hands alternating between both ends of his band. He knew where the Family was all headed; Tlantli had informed him as much as she could. The feast would be great, he remembered, and all must attend on perfect manners. A knot was forming in his churning, aching, stomach. Each step brought the coyote a slash of panic and he could feel his pulse throbbing in the mark on his palm.
He reached the ruins swiftly despite his hesitant pace. The smell of blood and boiling meat was thick in the air and mingled with smoke and thistle weed. Piles of rubble were frequent outside the brick wall surrounding the makeshift table. Citlali approached the gathering place silently and tentative, similar to a rabbit hopping about fueled with fear. Breathing in the warm, bold, air, the ginger coyote made his way through a crumbling entrance. Dull green eyes spotted his half-Aunt immediately in the fire light, but still held back out of instinct.
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