Among the scent of salt and wood, a more familiar smell surfaced. The boy turned to look at his pack mate as she approached in silence, looking at the large vessel. His tail began to wag until he realized he might have been supposed to stay with her, but she didn’t scold him or anything as she stepped past him to poke the boat with her nose. He grinned slyly and looked around to make sure the d’Artisans wouldn’t get mad, and he reached out with a pale paw to poke the wood.
Satisfied, Skoll stopped testing boundaries and instead pranced over to Terra’s side once more. “Isn’t it awesome?” he asked enthusiastically. “Whadduya think they’re gonna do with it?” That question had only recently come to mind; boats were meant to travel on water, he knew, but where were they going to go? He didn’t think the entire pack would go out to sea, would they? Some wolves did; some wolves in Nova Scotia came from across the entire world. It was an overwhelming thought to the pup that had yet to see beyond Cercatori d’Arte and his own pack, but it was exciting nonetheless, and he had to laugh.
“Are you havin’ fun?” the child went on, nudging her with his shoulder. He realized with another chuckle that he was about as big as her, his wolfdog blood raising him larger than her more coyote heritage. He wondered if he’d be as huge as his father, or even as huge as Alder, though he doubted that. It would still be a small victory to be able to knock Terra down for revenge.
For now, however, he pretended to be ignorant of their size prospects, only smiling innocently at her like the kid he was and would be for a while yet.
I can go the distance.
I will face the world:
fearless, proud and strong.
I will please the gods;
I can go the distance,
till I find my hero's welcome,
right where I belong.
Image courtesy of Stuck in Customs
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