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Vesper · 07-07-2012, 12:43 PM

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Word Count :: 323

Vesper chuckled when the other protested the existence of butterfly-stories, but the sound died down when Coyote was brought up. Her ear twitched, and an odd expression, almost recognition, came over her face as Terra explained a little. She looked back to when she was just a puppy, tumbling about her mother’s paws; while Winter had been very solitary, the family had still come across other non-luperci of their species who told similar tales. One of them had been about the Trickster, who created the world and used the coyotes’ cunning to survive.

Of course, the pale tawny pup had only scoffed at the stories, marking them as just fairy tales for children less mature than she. In secret, though, she’d tried to use some of Coyote’s tricks with varying levels of success. She wasn’t outright mischievous by nature, which destroyed the point of some of the tricks, and eventually her memory of the stories had faded.

“I know of Coyote,” Vesper said, regarding the other curiously. “Some feral members of our kind tell stories about him, although I hadn’t heard very much.”

Shiny objects—the claim reminded her of some of the more distracted ravens. She’d never understood the point of collecting things, even if she found some luperci baubles pretty. Her silver earring had been one such accessory, although since losing her other ear she preferred to keep its movement free.

“Clothes,” Vesper laughed, and rose up onto all fours, her posture almost playful. “I have a cloak, in case it gets ungodly cold or I need a disguise, but you’re right—they’re restricting.” She twisted around in a circle to demonstrate her freedom of movement. “Most canines don’t need clothes, anyhow; that’s what our fur is for. Unless a southern breed comes up north.” She’d heard tales of dogs with extremely short fur, and some with none at all, but she hoped for decency’s sake that the latter weren’t true.

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