(--)
Machidael is by me!
Yes. Cold. Winter? he asked, frowning with the thought of that approaching cold season (and all those thereafter). The cold was the worst part about this land. There was always fog, always rain, always moisture and damp. Machidael felt as if he was always emerging from a bath -- at least the heat of the desert was dry and bearable. Here, there was only heavy humidity, weighing down on his coat and making his movements sluggish and slow. And even then, it was not so hot. Machidael was loath to think of the oncoming winter. His reddish eyes followed the motion of the brothers with a slight tilt of his head. His slitted eyes followed the larger, nodding his greeting in response to the other canine.
Brother more? Machi asked, the tilt of his head growing more exaggerated. The jackal thought he understood, but was not certain -- and such a thing, unaccepted by most, was not something to be insinuated without repercussion. Yet, their closeness and this display made Machidael both bold and confident in his question. And -- perhaps after all, that show was just for his benefit, anyway? Perhaps this was how he was meant to trade for the dagga. Machidael considered only a split second before he decided such a trade favorable, and he scooted forward on the floor. Still, the jackal did not reach for either canine, nor did he seek to place himself beside them. Arrogant and demanding as he could be, Machidael recognized the need for an invitation -- sometimes, anyway.
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