01-24-2010, 08:35 AM
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Only moments later someone arrived to reprimand him for his theft. This coyote wasn’t in the best shape either, but nothing could compare to the mangled state of Frankie himself. Body lowering, crouching over the skull hidden beside his limp tail, he glared right back at the one-eyed coyote with his single seeing one. “Mine!” he proclaimed loudly, lifting his head to puff out his chest indignantly. “Mine skull. No can have back,” he continued, hissing like some macabre version of a cat as his head shook a few times from side to side. Single ear laid back, his eyes bulged until they nearly seemed like they’d explode from their sunken, darkened sockets. “Give it, I be good. Can have Frankie, yes yes?” Lips widened into a grin at this sudden idea, rusted cogs clicking into place within that decayed brain of his. If she gave him the skull, then she could have him as a pet. It wasn’t like he was worth anything more anyway. He’d never been the most intelligent beast —more like a toy for others —and nothing more than a side attraction to deviate from boredom. If his tail possessed life it would have wagged in a friendly gesture toward the female, but alas, this was an unavailable in its present and quite rigid state. This was how he’d gotten into such a mangled condition anyway —well, the stitches if anything. Someone had tried to play doctor, and not done a very good job at it. |