a warning to the people, the good and the evil

[Snake]

820

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A relatively clear morning, though the weather was as cuttingly cold as it had been as of late. Coyotes were not as well-prepared for such things as wolves were—the bandanna-wearing Hastati could feel the wind completely bypass whatever protection his thin fur gave him, chilling him to the bone. The sun made it a little more bearable, but he usually kept close to his den during days like this. He had rekindled the fire he kept in a pit next to his car-den in the landfill and kept close to it. He had free time and, as he usually did while in that situation, he pondered over the defunct pistol he had found in Halifax. It was an older model, even by human standards—a 1911 Custom that had been popular from the year that was its namesake all the way up to the Cold War, and sometimes beyond. The years definitely showed—Snake had been working tirelessly in free hours to get it free of rust. Now it shined, the rust cleaned from each individual piece. He had learned quickly how to break it apart and put it together. Now he intended to try to figure out what was the problem in the mechanism which prevented it from firing. Honestly, he didn’t want to fix it for any other reason that he wanted it to work. Snake was not someone who killed aimlessly—he actually preferred to avoid violence if possible. He just thought it’d be interesting to have a firearm at his side.


That might have to wait, though. He glanced up from where he was sitting by his fire when the raucous call went up; he knew it was Gabriel’s, though the wild tone was very different from the calm Aquila that he had met months ago. Snake stood, tossing handfuls of sand and grit onto the fire to make it splutter and mostly die. Then he put the pistol in his back pocket and began to lope towards where the call had issued from—the heart of Inferni’s territory.


He arrived after many: the usual suspects, de le Poers and Lykois, as well as his friend Hezekiah. There were a few that he did not recognize, such as another golden-hued coyote that was named Cotl (though Snake would learn this later). The olive-eyed yearling arrived silently, lingering towards the back of the assembled coyotes—not out of shyness, but just that he never liked to draw attention to himself. Crossing his strong arms in front of his chest, he listened with a stony expression as Gabriel told of what was happening. A cold shiver went down Snake’s spine.


War.


Patriot’s voice echoed in his ears, as if the werewolf were behind him now—“You’re practically a weapon, kid. And no matter what, I promise you: you will always end up on a battlefield eventually.” He was angry that his past mentor was correct, though it did not show an inch on his facial features. Snake had to figure this out now. He had sworn to himself that the minute Inferni no longer was beneficial to him, he would leave. This would appear to be the time, right? He might die within a conflict with the wolves to the west. But… as he glanced at the familiar and alien faces around him, he realized that he was in too deep for that. He trusted his superiors and he even found himself wanting to help, wanting to protect what had become his home. With that, he realized that he would stay and he would fight. He was a weapon, after all; what was the point of trying to escape it?


Haku Soul. Snake knew him, from words and even personal experience. He glanced to Hezekiah, wondering if his blue-eyed friend knew that that very man had chased them from Dahlia before. Anselm had given Snake a description that had given him that conclusion. Well, that wolf was no friend of Snake’s, so he was glad to make him into an enemy. There was a rumbling when Gabriel finished his powerful words, describing how things were to be done. The Hastati knew that he would have to track down Daisuke and warn him that this time, he could not come to Inferni. No doubt someone would catch and kill him. It was strange that this was one of his first thoughts, but those of war were general to Snake. He didn’t need to consider them as much.


He did not respond like everyone else. Rather, he seemed somewhat retreated into himself—his hard olive eyes was fixated on the ground a few feet away from him, his arms crossed and a serious expression on his youthful face. Someone might surmise that he was looking shifty, but in truth he was just processing things. If asked, he would tell the truth—he would be an Inferni soldier in this war.

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