10-18-2009, 12:33 AM
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He knew that voice.
He knew it, but he couldn’t believe it. Not for a second. Because why on earth would he track him all the way here? Despite Snake finally being able to make a place for himself in Inferni, he was not a family wolf. When it came to his parents, he was grateful to them for giving him life and raising him, but he couldn’t say that he loved him. For love was a hot, dangerous emotion that Snake did not really take part in. It drove creatures down strange pathways and, sometimes, into madness. He knew this from watching the poisoned words flow between Nikita and Patriot back in New Haven, and knowing that they, once in a time long past, had said they had “loved” one another.
The young coyote had been working hard on restoring the ancient automobile in the landfill—his new home, as it was—and he had been lying on the roof, staring up at the sky when the call came. Despite the confusion that it sent running through his veins, he automatically picked himself up and started to move towards it. One could not say that Snake in any way disliked Laurel, because he didn’t. He had no reason to. But he did not necessarily like him either. In the end, Snake was not motivated by want to see his father again. No, it was curiosity. It brought him back to his first thought—why on earth did his father want to meet with him?
In minutes the son was loping up to his father. A passerby would immediately notice the resemblance: while Foxhound had been mostly covered in the darker hues of their mother, Snake’s sandy-gold fur was the exact same hue as Laurel’s, as were their eyes. The wayward son did not raise those eyes to his father’s yet; no, he wasn’t sure whether he was afraid or confused or both, but he could not meet them. He looked to the side, his gaze partially hidden by the bandanna that was on his head. After a moment, he murmured in an innocuous voice, “Hello, Father.”
He knew that voice.
He knew it, but he couldn’t believe it. Not for a second. Because why on earth would he track him all the way here? Despite Snake finally being able to make a place for himself in Inferni, he was not a family wolf. When it came to his parents, he was grateful to them for giving him life and raising him, but he couldn’t say that he loved him. For love was a hot, dangerous emotion that Snake did not really take part in. It drove creatures down strange pathways and, sometimes, into madness. He knew this from watching the poisoned words flow between Nikita and Patriot back in New Haven, and knowing that they, once in a time long past, had said they had “loved” one another.
The young coyote had been working hard on restoring the ancient automobile in the landfill—his new home, as it was—and he had been lying on the roof, staring up at the sky when the call came. Despite the confusion that it sent running through his veins, he automatically picked himself up and started to move towards it. One could not say that Snake in any way disliked Laurel, because he didn’t. He had no reason to. But he did not necessarily like him either. In the end, Snake was not motivated by want to see his father again. No, it was curiosity. It brought him back to his first thought—why on earth did his father want to meet with him?
In minutes the son was loping up to his father. A passerby would immediately notice the resemblance: while Foxhound had been mostly covered in the darker hues of their mother, Snake’s sandy-gold fur was the exact same hue as Laurel’s, as were their eyes. The wayward son did not raise those eyes to his father’s yet; no, he wasn’t sure whether he was afraid or confused or both, but he could not meet them. He looked to the side, his gaze partially hidden by the bandanna that was on his head. After a moment, he murmured in an innocuous voice, “Hello, Father.”
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