but I'm sure she was in hell

Itachi Lykoi · 01-04-2012, 08:00 PM

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sswm 1005. Here, have a 1k words post with Itachi walking past a window. :|

As he wandered over to the next building, it was expected that the scent of the other canine would fade, though instead it remained fresh and strong, indicating that he was actually following its path and not walking away from it. It wasn’t until now that alarm rose within his serene being, though not even now would his cool demeanour betray him. It wasn’t the skills of an actor or freak talent that left him a closed book with blank pages. It was a flaw; a screaming sign for all to see that he was wrong. His senses functioned as they should and brought the appropriate attention when it was necessary, but his frame did not shift and change with emotion and sensation as others would. He wasn’t immovable in his appearance, but his threshold was beyond and above of what was considered normal. Though the wheels inside his head had started turning, there was no change in his form to indicate that he remained unaware.

Depths of crimson moved back to gaze into the empty direction where the sharp, distracting sound had come from, and his mind lined up the possibilities he could face. He hadn’t scouted the place when he arrived, and there could be two individuals more that had simply happened to linger here at the wrong time, just as he. It was the theory he would settle with for now, though there was always the chance of cooperation, which strengthened the suspicion of ill intent. Salsola was a dangerous pack to non-members, but it didn’t provide him with certain safety. Itachi, as every other canine, was just one individual, and he was alone and hours from his designated home. Intimidating rumours could give birth to hate, eventually, and that hate was fixated on the smell of the guilty pack, regardless if the member wearing it was innocent or not. But Itachi knew that he was a faithful sinner in the eyes that knew common morale. He had participated in his pack’s cruel ways, and had tasted the blood of a slave that had been permanently damaged only because he had dared to speak against the Family.

Calm eyes returned to the hollow entrance of the targeted house, and he didn’t hesitate as he stepped into the darkness anew. Humidity had attacked the walls and destroyed whatever colour the tapestry might have represented and now hung dark and spoiled, moist with its bacterial infections. But frost pushed everything away, and the sour odour that usually accompanied places like this didn’t sting quite as much as usual. Come summer and the occasional rain, and the tale had been another. By now, it was clear to him that he had followed the trail, involuntarily, but it was his ears that guided him now. These ruins were empty and still, but blonde, fluffy ears had detected sound. Eyes glanced back more than once as he moved along the mouldy wall, ensuring that he was not being tailed. Movement was still fluid, but his pace had slowed significantly, for he had to take care where to step, so to not torture the wood as he had in the first house he had visited. This wasn’t the time to make any sound at all.

Female, member of a southern wolf pack,, olfaction insisted. It didn’t lessen the possibility of danger, for though the stereotypical female was known to be less aggressive and physically weaker than the average male, they could be equally dangerous. The blonde male preferred not to discriminate between the genders, for it heightened the chance of underestimating possible future enemies. After all, he was a child brought up by the most feared woman he knew. Halo was a living proof that contradicted the added weakness in females. The son was convinced that he’d no doubt mop the floor with any member of Anathema, had she had them one by one and not gathered in a group. Such promising genes resided within the blonde, but his dame’s abilities were not his, though he was an aspiring warrior, intent to learn how to hold his position when met with violence.

He could gather his breath and tell the emptiness that he was not looking for any trouble, but that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, even if it was low. It would alert them of his current whereabouts if they didn’t know already, and inside the skeleton of this house, he suspected he would be easy to trap if there was more than one canine with ill intentions. The stranger woman’s scent was strong once trapped between walls where no breeze could brush it away, and as what would be expected of him, the blonde male followed to the windows, where it became obvious that she had escaped through. Ears flickered at the strange logic, for her scent could not be disguised or hidden at such short time. She had been here, moments ago. But if her trail left fear, he didn’t catch it.

There was the constant debate within his golden form cloaked by black. Was it worth trailing her scent if she didn’t wish to be found? He had now followed because he couldn’t guess her current whereabouts. Had she caught her lonely form fleeing down the street, he would have understood that she was as reluctant to establish a meeting as he did. It was the part of not knowing her attention that made him unable to let go of her. Mild resentment for the situation offered a nasty taste. Pale fingers brushed against the frame where the woman had climbed out, and he continued on, turning away from her scent by refusing to follow it out of the empty opening. The yearling’s conscious mind didn’t let go of her though, even as his eyes returned to their search for jewellery.

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