01-14-2010, 12:21 AM
EW IT'S A VAN I DON'T LIKE HER SHE SMELLS. 509.
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It was getting late, and Snake was returning from the northern reaches of the territory. He had been busy thinking, his military mind working like a gear in the middle of a great machine. He had been in his first fight of the Second Dahlian War, and there was a cloth wrapped around his right shoulder to prove it—underneath lie where the werewolf had slashed at his clavicle, nearly slitting his throat in the process. It had been close, but now the wound was beginning to heal. It was a good reminder that this wasn’t child’s play and that they were serious. If he had slipped up that day, both he and Vieira would be dead. He was thankful that they weren’t, and he couldn’t help but think that it had been a little too miraculous for him. Another divine intervention, probably. He was somewhat tired of higher powers playing around with his life.
He had been thinking about what would happen if all the Dahlian wolves decided to invade and the Infenri coyotes knew and decided to regroup somewhere. At first he had thought the caves to be the natural choice, but that was a bad idea. He remembered when pockets of resistance against Patriot sprung up in the bowels of New Haven, hidden in decaying skyscrapers and buildings. All Patriot would do was send a large force to flush them out and exterminate them, and that was what the wolves would do. He had visited the northern slopes of Inferni, the Occasius Promontorium, thinking that would be a much better place. They would have a high view on the territory, and they would know if they were being approached. And they would have the high ground. He made a mental note to tell Gabriel of his thoughts the next time he came across the hybrid Aquila.
His senses went on alert as he noticed that there was someone on the borders, a small willowy figure that stood out against the surmounting gloom. She was mostly gray, though there were more intricate nuances in her fur that seemed to be highlighted by the dying light reflecting off the snow. She was near one of the skulls that bordered Inferni, close enough to touch noses with it. He approached, stopping and crossing his arms in a dominant display. With his war wound had come a promotion from Hastati—warrior in-training—to Hydra, which was the leaders’ personal guards. He knew that he had a much more powerful position in the pack now, and he was getting used to the idea. “I wouldn’t stand around like that, especially on these borders. There is a war here, you know.” He blinked, adding, “Who are you?” He would have attacked her if she bore a more lupine semblance, and the Dahlian scent. But she had no scent he recognized, and appeared more coyote than anything. Snake had never encountered a trespasser, nor someone interested in joining Inferni. He had no precedent besides his own, so he was playing this by ear.
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It was getting late, and Snake was returning from the northern reaches of the territory. He had been busy thinking, his military mind working like a gear in the middle of a great machine. He had been in his first fight of the Second Dahlian War, and there was a cloth wrapped around his right shoulder to prove it—underneath lie where the werewolf had slashed at his clavicle, nearly slitting his throat in the process. It had been close, but now the wound was beginning to heal. It was a good reminder that this wasn’t child’s play and that they were serious. If he had slipped up that day, both he and Vieira would be dead. He was thankful that they weren’t, and he couldn’t help but think that it had been a little too miraculous for him. Another divine intervention, probably. He was somewhat tired of higher powers playing around with his life.
He had been thinking about what would happen if all the Dahlian wolves decided to invade and the Infenri coyotes knew and decided to regroup somewhere. At first he had thought the caves to be the natural choice, but that was a bad idea. He remembered when pockets of resistance against Patriot sprung up in the bowels of New Haven, hidden in decaying skyscrapers and buildings. All Patriot would do was send a large force to flush them out and exterminate them, and that was what the wolves would do. He had visited the northern slopes of Inferni, the Occasius Promontorium, thinking that would be a much better place. They would have a high view on the territory, and they would know if they were being approached. And they would have the high ground. He made a mental note to tell Gabriel of his thoughts the next time he came across the hybrid Aquila.
His senses went on alert as he noticed that there was someone on the borders, a small willowy figure that stood out against the surmounting gloom. She was mostly gray, though there were more intricate nuances in her fur that seemed to be highlighted by the dying light reflecting off the snow. She was near one of the skulls that bordered Inferni, close enough to touch noses with it. He approached, stopping and crossing his arms in a dominant display. With his war wound had come a promotion from Hastati—warrior in-training—to Hydra, which was the leaders’ personal guards. He knew that he had a much more powerful position in the pack now, and he was getting used to the idea. “I wouldn’t stand around like that, especially on these borders. There is a war here, you know.” He blinked, adding, “Who are you?” He would have attacked her if she bore a more lupine semblance, and the Dahlian scent. But she had no scent he recognized, and appeared more coyote than anything. Snake had never encountered a trespasser, nor someone interested in joining Inferni. He had no precedent besides his own, so he was playing this by ear.