D'Neville Mansion, main room. Early evening (though it would be dark at that point). Word Count »
Oh how he despised the cold. It was hardly what it would be in the coming months, but already Enkiel had begun to feel the effects. His father’s bloodline had given him enough fur to survive, as a jackal alone would have perished in this cold. Still, he felt the temperature harshly through his pelt. For this reason he had donned his poncho, a thick woolen thing that was ragged and well-worn. He had found it last winter and was extremely glad he had. Most of his days were spent indoors when the weather turned, fending off the cold and eating what food was brought to him.
He had tested the weather and gone out to the river. Moss wouldn’t grow much longer in the cold, and it was an excellent filter (and worked well for stopping bleeding). After gathering what little remained, he had begun to head back…only to be hit with snowflakes as the sun began to sink. Irritated, he quickened his pace to a trot. By the time he arrived it was dark and he felt half-frozen.
Enkiel ducked into the mansion, unwilling to run all the way to the guest house until his poncho dried. He was pleased that there was a fire in the main room, and went here swiftly. Settling onto a footstool the jackal leaned his head onto his hands and rubbed at his face. His nose was stinging from the cold, but the fire was working fast. Black hair spilled about as the hood was removed from his head, framing a too-sharp face that spoke of his dual heritage.
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