01-13-2010, 11:15 PM
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722.
Perhaps one of the reasons that Daisuke’s statement about Snake’s possible death seemed so odd to him was that Snake had always assumed that he would go out fighting. Honestly, who would see him dying of old age? Though he was not violent by nature, it seemed to follow him like a shadow. For some reason, he seemed to attract the whackos who just wanted to hurt someone, and war seemed to spring up from beneath his feet wherever he went. He had long since stopped caring—“whatever happens, happens” had become one of his greatest mantras about this. Snake did not think that things in life were random, he believed that there was something that guided all the paths of all the creatures. He had no idea what that might be, but he had trouble believing everything in this world was a fragile web of circumstance and probability. There was intelligence in it yet, and that intelligence had thrown the coyote once more into the throws of war.
He knew that Daisuke was distressed, but he could not change his mood as easily as others might. He remained by the fire, his face seemingly cast in stone. Snake was not a very amiable creature to begin with, but the war had obviously dampened that even more. Perhaps he should live every day like his last, but he didn’t even know how to do that. Snake did not live, he merely existed. A depressing thought, but it was the truth in the end. He noticed that Daisuke had toned down some, responding to his small comment in a quiet and calm tone before handing him the second rabbit. Without thinking he drew his knife, skinning the rabbit in record time before putting it on a stick he found lying around and setting that over the fire. He didn’t think about it—he simply wanted it cooked rather than raw right now. The thought of eating the dead mammal with fur and blood and all was somewhat sickening to him, for some strange reason.
Daisuke opted to eat the rabbit raw, which Snake didn’t mentally remark upon on at all. Each to his own—he didn’t think he had a knife handy, so skinning would probably be a little more tricky for him. After the golden wolf had dispatched the food and given the remainder to the cat that he kept as a pet, he looked to Snake and began speaking about a song. The coyote had trouble remembering the promise, but he believed he did after hearing about it again. He raised an eyebrow (invisible beneath his bandanna, unfortunately) when Daisuke mentioned meeting the tallest werewolf ever who gave him a guitar. He then said that he had the basic melody, but no words. Snake nodded when he asked if he wanted to hear it, saying, “Sure.” While Snake had never had any musical talent himself, he had always liked it. His mother had hummed and sometimes sang him to sleep when he had been much younger, and there was something oddly comforting in the sound of musical notes arranged as such.
The loner reached out towards Snake suddenly, but the coyote tracked his eyeline and noticed that it rested on the necklace that still was twined around his neck. He allowed the wolf to touch the braided twine necklace and the spiral shell that was still connected to it, though there was another irrational thought in the back of his head that told him not to let anyone’s claws that near his throat. He didn’t listen, and was calm throughout. Daisuke said that he could come back and ask for a new one if it broke, and Snake nodded. “I’ll do that,” he said, thinking that it was quite possible that the fragile braid would break if he ever got to some real fighting in this war.
He realized then that the rabbit was finally done cooking, and he took the stick it was roasting on from the fire, taking a few decisive bites from the cooked rodent. In truth, he was starving—he hadn’t had that much time to hunt between preparations and sleeping, so the rabbit disappeared in record time. Afterwards he set the stick down to his side, wondering what kind of music Daisuke had prepared for him.
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722.
Perhaps one of the reasons that Daisuke’s statement about Snake’s possible death seemed so odd to him was that Snake had always assumed that he would go out fighting. Honestly, who would see him dying of old age? Though he was not violent by nature, it seemed to follow him like a shadow. For some reason, he seemed to attract the whackos who just wanted to hurt someone, and war seemed to spring up from beneath his feet wherever he went. He had long since stopped caring—“whatever happens, happens” had become one of his greatest mantras about this. Snake did not think that things in life were random, he believed that there was something that guided all the paths of all the creatures. He had no idea what that might be, but he had trouble believing everything in this world was a fragile web of circumstance and probability. There was intelligence in it yet, and that intelligence had thrown the coyote once more into the throws of war.
He knew that Daisuke was distressed, but he could not change his mood as easily as others might. He remained by the fire, his face seemingly cast in stone. Snake was not a very amiable creature to begin with, but the war had obviously dampened that even more. Perhaps he should live every day like his last, but he didn’t even know how to do that. Snake did not live, he merely existed. A depressing thought, but it was the truth in the end. He noticed that Daisuke had toned down some, responding to his small comment in a quiet and calm tone before handing him the second rabbit. Without thinking he drew his knife, skinning the rabbit in record time before putting it on a stick he found lying around and setting that over the fire. He didn’t think about it—he simply wanted it cooked rather than raw right now. The thought of eating the dead mammal with fur and blood and all was somewhat sickening to him, for some strange reason.
Daisuke opted to eat the rabbit raw, which Snake didn’t mentally remark upon on at all. Each to his own—he didn’t think he had a knife handy, so skinning would probably be a little more tricky for him. After the golden wolf had dispatched the food and given the remainder to the cat that he kept as a pet, he looked to Snake and began speaking about a song. The coyote had trouble remembering the promise, but he believed he did after hearing about it again. He raised an eyebrow (invisible beneath his bandanna, unfortunately) when Daisuke mentioned meeting the tallest werewolf ever who gave him a guitar. He then said that he had the basic melody, but no words. Snake nodded when he asked if he wanted to hear it, saying, “Sure.” While Snake had never had any musical talent himself, he had always liked it. His mother had hummed and sometimes sang him to sleep when he had been much younger, and there was something oddly comforting in the sound of musical notes arranged as such.
The loner reached out towards Snake suddenly, but the coyote tracked his eyeline and noticed that it rested on the necklace that still was twined around his neck. He allowed the wolf to touch the braided twine necklace and the spiral shell that was still connected to it, though there was another irrational thought in the back of his head that told him not to let anyone’s claws that near his throat. He didn’t listen, and was calm throughout. Daisuke said that he could come back and ask for a new one if it broke, and Snake nodded. “I’ll do that,” he said, thinking that it was quite possible that the fragile braid would break if he ever got to some real fighting in this war.
He realized then that the rabbit was finally done cooking, and he took the stick it was roasting on from the fire, taking a few decisive bites from the cooked rodent. In truth, he was starving—he hadn’t had that much time to hunt between preparations and sleeping, so the rabbit disappeared in record time. Afterwards he set the stick down to his side, wondering what kind of music Daisuke had prepared for him.