Time for Talk or Time for Action

Vesper · 08-06-2012, 11:44 AM

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oh my god thank lazarus 8D

Lately, Vesper had not thought much about the Sequoia alliance and its raid on the Thistle Kingdom. It had bothered her that they’d needed to associate with Salsola in order to defeat the Scintilla wolf threat, but none of those old foes she’d fought beside had embodied the terror and evil that was the slave-driving pack. In fact, many of the younger members seemed perfectly good, and one desperate fighter even reminded her a bit of herself. It was an uncomfortable thought, but she had known even at the meeting with the other Sequoia members that there were innocents in the pack. It was the leaders, and wolves like the black one that had killed the slave, that needed to take the fall.

However, her opinion of the group that had actually raided Salsola was low too. Many members had simply seemed thirsty for blood and hungry for chaos, not caring who they turned their violence on. They’d be just as happy attacking a peaceful southern pack as the northern slavers, she’d thought. At any rate, they weren’t the first group, like wise but troubled Tayui and noble but prejudiced Zalen.

Where this black wolf sat in her opinions was trickier, because while she’d hated his attitude, she knew things could change and probably had. After all, she wasn’t a non-luperci loner with an attitude problem of her own anymore.

Her blue eyes flickered lazily to the newcomer, an unimpressive grey wolf in his lupus form—that, at least, she could respect. When he did not speak, she returned her attention to the black, trying to read his reaction to her choice of position. She hated using the skulls for such a purpose, believing in eventual peace between wolves and coyotes, but it didn’t hurt to make her point clear; she would not tolerate any of her clan getting attacked by the beastly members of the race.

If he was horrified, or pissed off, he hid it well. The words that came out of his mouth were unexpected, however, and her posture changed: sharp, well-carried, interested.

“My name is Vesper,” the one-eared coywolf said plainly, “and I am a member of our clan’s leadership.”

She watched his blue eyes, his mouth, for any reaction. Then she took a seat, still with better posture than before, and tucked her dark-tipped tail over a scarred hind paw. She knew that, whatever her feelings were, she couldn’t be rude to the founder of another pack if his message turned out to be goodwill. She didn’t want conflict with a neonatal pack, anyway, unless it came down to his attitude rekindling. As far as she knew, she had done him no offense—other than being half coyote and once non-luperci. If he had issues with that, he was a fool.

“Sangi’lak, huh? I think I like the name.” She tried to smile conversationally, but she’d never been able to properly smile around strangers; what resulted was a crooked quirk of her lips. “What do you wish to say…is there a proper title I can give you?” She realized she didn’t know—or couldn’t remember—his name, and she did want to at least try to be respectful if he wanted to be called Ambassador or Alpha or Grand Poobah of Sangi’lak or whatever else.

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