Heath was bi-lingual, and yet his English was just as good as his first French language. He could appreciate the other's issues with the unknown, or unfamiliar words. That was if the male hadn't been standing between he and the vodka he had traveled so far to get. Perhaps the stranger would understand that Heath only wanted to pick up a few bottles before returning to the loft above the stables that he called home. That was if Heath wished to explain. He shouldn't have to, not in free territory such as Halifax. Still the tawny male only stepped closer as the male introduced himself. The anger that was alive and well in his mind was burning for the fight that could so easily be initiated with the slightest shove of the coyote male. But Heath only stared, and didn't touch.
"Your family, lives in there?" He pointed to the window that held the flag that meant Russian vodka and Heath's fast-track to blitzed bliss. There was no need to get caught up in an anger that should be directed inward and not to the smoking hybrid. A muddled mind wondered for a second if it was his last cigarette, or if he had one to bum. Finally the frowning male let the tension fall from his features, though a smile was far from obtainable. The Miracles man looked from the store back to the stranger, who now took on the title Silas and spoke,
"I'm Heath."