Prayer was not a belief that the sable hybrid held dearly, yet she was beginning to consider it. Pandemic and Salvia (and Wretch, too -- maybe, if she was still alive) were nearing on seven months now. They would begin shifting soon, or so she hoped, and perhaps they would pass into the adult ranks, and yet there was no stirring in her belly, no continuation of what she and Larkspur had started accidentally. Though accidental as their original mating had been, it had produced strong children, and despite her awkwardness with Larkspur, despite her misgivings, she would sacrifice that for more strong children, more children like the ones she already had. She might have had the same from Ouija, but there was uncertainty in Eris for the pallid man now. He had his woman and he had Anathema. He would not care for her now, and she had missed her chance with the man. Something in her ached for that, and she thought she might visit him soon.
Despite her despair at the lack of further children, the hybrid did very nearly swagger as she meandered from Salsola's borders. She had tasked herself with recruitment, and she would hold this job. She enjoyed leaving the packlands, after all, and though she held Salsola dearly already, the sable hybrid was not beyond her own secrets. The ability to depart from the packlands with such an easy excuse was something the coyote found herself desiring, and she would make it known that she aimed for the Reclutadore rank soon enough. In her Optime form and clutching the driftwood branch she generally carried now, the dark woman headed north, keeping close to the coast as she went. She had encountered the pallid stranger here, true enough, but she did not think washing ashore was a common fate, and she thought she might pass unmolested to Halcyon Mountain today.
Jeremiah was trying very hard not to dwell on his misery. He was not succeeding terribly well. One would think that, with the months he'd had to mentally chew on his abandonment of the only way of life he knew, he would have grown tired of rehashing those last few weeks with his family. Truthfully, he was sick of it; he just couldn't stop himself. He'd prayed and prayed about it, asked the Lord for some sort of peace, all to no avail. Apparently, God had decided that Jeremiah would be stronger for fighting this battle on his own; either that, or He wasn't listening anymore. While the young shepherd shied away from this idea, Jeremiah wouldn't have blamed Him for giving up on the dog. It seemed he might be a lost cause, after all.
The mottled canine sighed as he trudged through the sand, leading his black, white-maned horse, creatively named Black, by the reins so as not to give the animal an even more difficult time of walking on such a soft terrain. The only thing that managed to chase the memories of the pain in his mother's eyes away was the memory of her. The Outsider. She'd been the only person he'd ever met outside of his village, and though he'd been quite young when she'd stopped through, he'd been fascinated by her and her wildcat. The pair had represented everything he'd never known -- presumed he would never know -- about the world. He could only think that it had been God's hand that had brought the sable female through the quaint little community, for without the memory of her he wouldn't have known where to turn when the village turned its back on him.
He'd left everything he'd ever known in search of her, because she'd represented a world he thought he might fit into, considering he didn't fit in his own. It had been a long journey, made longer by the fact that he didn't quite know where he was going -- only that the wolf had been headed north when she'd left, and so that was the direction he took.
Jeremiah was jarred out of his self-pity when his chocolate eyes landed upon a sable figure, not too far away, and he stopped short, eliciting an irritable snort from Black. He rubbed his eyes with white-furred fingers, for a moment not believing she wasn't a figment of his imagination, this figure he'd so longed to find. He trotted forward for a moment, pulling Black along like an almost-forgotten doll, and stopped short once more, unsure of what he was doing, exactly. Black voiced another, louder snort in objection to the way he was being manhandled, and the slender dog placed an absent-minded hand on the horse's neck. He was unable to take his own indecision any longer. E...Eris? He called out in a voice hoarse from disuse. Praise God, Eris, is it thee?
The smell of salt was heavy on the air, obscuring all other scent from her nose. Salsola always smelled of salt; they were surrounded on two sides by the bay, and a third by the river. Their borders were well-guarded by water, but this was not enough for the sable she-wolf, who demanded border patrol and protection. She would not have been able to voice what she saw as such a threat, if pressed -- still, there was no one daring enough to press her, at least not yet. They would have been met by dudgeon from the coal hybrid, who would not have reacted well to a subordinate's questioning. Sirius also seemed to agree with her need to protect the pack, though he seemed less fervent than Eris.
In any case, her paranoia did not apparently keep her within the protection of her own borders; the sable-shaded woman swaggered her way along the coast, finding little reason to fear. There were no other packs nearby; the closest was Inferni, and she had learned well that the coyotes preferred to keep to their own. If they were to seek vengeance against her, they would have long ago. The coal hybrid was beneath their notice, and though this irked her, she thought it better to be ignored for now. Later, when they were stronger, Salsola and Eris Eternity would not be so easy to ignore. The hybrid did not actively seek vengeance as her mother might have, but if the opportunity presented itself... well, Eris was an opportunistic creature, and she would gladly accept such a chance.
The voice startled her from her thoughts, and a coal-hued head snapped upward, chartreuse eyes narrowing as they spied a hulking black figure, led by thinning rope or reigns by another figure, this one mottled and oddly-colored. He seemed almost blue-black in places, blue-gray in others, and all over he was splotted and splashed with pale, pure white. He spoke her name, and the hybrid hesitated, her eyes widening in surprise. She did not recognize the creature before her but Eris stepped forward all the same, heralded by the sweet, strange speech of the canine, looking him and the horse both up and down. She remained a respectful distance from the equine, possessing enough sense about horses to know they were skittish creatures at times.
“Eris it is,” she responded, still uncertain as to the dog, who seemed younger than she was. “Who might you be?” A strange inkling of recognition glittered in the hybrid's bright greenish eyes, though she could place no name or place to the mottled blue-black face before her.
The mottled dog shuddered as the sea breeze ruffled his particolored fur. The shiver was brought on less by the wind and more by the idea that he may have finally found what he'd so long sought. Jeremiah had been terrified the day he'd left his family, but this terror had soon given way to sadness and boredom. Every day had been the same, though he'd appreciated the beauty as the scenery changed. He had begun to wonder if he'd ever find any civilization at all, much less the specific hybrid for whom he searched.
Jeremiah's breath caught in his throat as the ebony figure approached him. It was her! He recognized the spiral scar on her shoulder. He nearly dropped Black's reins in his excitement. The young dog trembled visibly, but ducked his head respectfully as Eris Eternity spoke. Please forgive my impertinence, Eris, he said tremulously, mocha eyes trained on her feet. I am known as Jeremiah Ezekial Holt, of the Holt Shepherds of Appalachia. Thou paused for a night amongst my village some months back. He involuntarily raised his gaze, and couldn't restrain the smile forming at the corners of his mouth as he took in the midnight female. It is a long tale, but I fell out with the village, and have been searching for thee for quite some time.
So quiet, so respectful -- he bowed his head without so much as knowing her status, giving her proper courtesy where it was due. The name was foreign to her, but the place was not -- her chartreuse eyes seemed to recognize him then, taking the mottled canine in with renewed vigor. The dogs had sheltered her for a night, she remembered, and though they had been cautious of her, they had provided her with a meal and a place to sleep nonetheless. It was only through Itzcitla's hunting and the rare kindnesses of strangers like the Holt canines that she had been able to survive the trek northward, though it had been her own poor choice of travel route, time, and numerous other factors to make her journey all the more difficult. Idiot she was with regard to survival, it was a wonder she'd survived at all. Sirius had helped her to see some of these things, but in practice Eris was still a novice, floundering her way through the world. Her generally reserved albeit cordial mannerisms in social conduct were perhaps her only saving graces, though they had proven particularly useful in the formation of Salsola.
Knowing his clan now, the coyote still did not recognize the canine before her. She hadn't spoken to many of them; most had seemed afraid of her, gaunt as she was, and even more had been wary of Itzcitla, half-frozen as he was. The sable-hued woman primarily remembered one seemingly tiny youth who had seemed completely enraptured with her stories, but this could not be the same canine. Could it? She squinted at him, and smiled. “I remember you Holts,” she said, nodding her head earnestly. “You were good to me. I'm sorry for whatever's happened to you,” she added, uncertain as to whether the man's tale was sad or happy, though she assumed the former, as he might still be in those mountains if it were the latter.
Gonna detail backstory a little... if there's anything you don't like, let me know, I will change :3. Also, I actually bothered to look up the archaic grammar, so his speech should be a little closer to right now XD.
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It had been during the harshest part of the Appalachian winter when the Outsider had floundered into the Holt community, nearly starved and frozen. She had been immediately taken in, of course, and Jeremiah remembered much whispered conversation as to whether they would allow her to stay for a night, or simply feed her and send her on her way. She gave them pause, for she was as little like them as the dogs could imagine; wild, half-wolf and half-coyote, not gentle-bred like the Shepherds. To further complicate things she'd had in her company a large, golden mottled cat, the likes of which the Holts had never seen, and they worried she'd tamed it with witchcraft.
The dark stranger had been genial enough, though, and seemed non-threatening enough, and so they had ultimately let her stay. Jeremiah had been a very young six months at the time -- he didn't remember which Holt family Eris had ended up staying with, only that she'd taken her dinner in the meeting house with the rest of the village. Afterwards she had sat near the fire, her exotic cat curled at the side of her chair, and at the insistence of several young Shepherds, Jeremiah included, she began to tell her stories. As the other pups became tired and one by one went to their homes, Jeremiah stayed the latest of the all, enraptured by Eris, asking her question after question when there were appropriate places to do so.
He'd finally fallen asleep there by the hybrid and the fire, and when he'd awakened at dawn, the Outsider and her cat were already gone. He'd gone outside in the mountainous snow and stared north for a while, trying to imagine the destination which Eris sought. He eventually had to get back to his chores, but he'd never forgotten the sooty female, and when his family shunned him, she was whom he'd followed, because he'd really always wanted to anyway.
Jeremiah felt some relief when Eris smiled back at him, though there'd been little doubt that she would receive him graciously, considering the hospitality the Holts had shown her. He nodded at her words. I thank thee for thy sympathies, Eris. Thou shan't be expected to remember me specifically, he said. I was but a young pup when thee traveled'st through. I remember thee, though, and thy stories. A smile quirked his black lips. And thy strange cat. Doth he still survive?
Word Count » 511
GOD WOMAN I HAVE NEVER HATED ANYTHING MORE IN MY LIFE YOU MUST CHANGE IT ALL RIGHT NOW OR I WILL SLAY YOUR FACEEEE
the world shudders as the worm gets its wings
Having traveled so long with no company other than the scant wanderer -- some of whom were so lacking in courtesy, their only response to her greetings and attempts at conversation were grunts and growls -- the sable-shaded coyote had relished those warm spots where she might find a bit of extra food and a warm companion. Few in the Holt compound had been particularly warm, however -- most had regarded her with stony suspicion. The children and younger ones, however, did not seem to possess the same paranoia of outsiders that had seemed to haunt their elders, and Eris had associated with them more closely than their parents.
One had lingered longer than the rest, enthralled with the tales the sable hybrid spun. Her chartreuse yellow eyes regarded him, trying to determine -- no, it couldn't be. Could it? Recognition bloomed slowly across her coal face, and though she could not remember him or what he'd said to her in return too well, she did remember quite vividly telling them of Eterne and all the other places she had seen over her lifetime. She hadn't been too specific on where she was headed, but here he was, all the same. Granted, over a year had passed since the hybrid had arrived in 'Souls, and Jeremiah might have been a youth of six or seven months when she'd seen him last.
“No, I remember you,” she said, tilting her head just so and giving him a smile. There was warmth in it yet, but calculations churned behind that yellow-green gaze. The Holts were a hardy type of canine, entirely self-sufficient despite their numbers in their isolated patch of the woodlands. They were survivors, she thought, and this youth would be of much the same stock. “Itzcitla lives, though he found this winter no more pleasant than the last. We're in quite a good spot,” she added, grinning a broad smile that took no heed of the nosedive Jeremiah's life had seemed to take since they'd last taken. Eris was not particularly boastful, but she was proud of Salsola, and she could not help but add in such cryptic comments.
“So, why did you seek me out?” she inquired, seeming passive and quite nearly uninterested, looking down at her hands and inspecting her claws for flecks of dirt. She was not aware that she had such an influence on the youth's life as to drive him out of his comfortable home and all the way northward. Was he infatuated with her? The coal woman stole a glance at him, and thought not. He did not give her those eyes, the glazed-over and utterly childish gaze that sometimes fell over the faces of men. He had stated it was a long story; she did not think it was her to cause his departure from the Holt clan. Still -- it might very well be, and she would be interested to hear any story that presented herself as a centerpiece. Chartreuse eyes blinked at him patiently, a faint grin still present on her lips.
The particolor canine was surprised at the amount of relief which he felt at Eris' geniality. In the forefront of his mind, he had assumed that she would be, perhaps not pleased to see him -- he would never suppose such arrogance -- but at the very least not displeased. Apparently his subconscious had been prepared for the dark lady with the enchanting eyes to chase him away, such was the tension that left him.
Black snorted and pawed at the sand. The stallion was a good horse, but a tad impatient, and was growing tired of standing and listening to what he probably considered prattle, without even a blade of grass to graze. Jeremiah looped the reins around the horn of the saddle and gave the animal's shoulder a pat. Black sauntered away from them in the direction of the more lush woodland, but the shepherd wasn't concerned; Black was a good horse, unfailingly loyal, and would come to him when he called.
I am glad thou hast found thy destination, Jeremiah said warmly, And that thee and thine art well. His smile faltered a little as Eris inquired as to his motivations for seeking her out, his excitement at finally finding the coywolf darkened by the remembrance of that which drove him to do so. He was reluctant to tell his story, though he had known his entire journey that if he ever did find the Outsider, she would expect an explanation. He supposed it was only fair, considering the tales with which she'd entertained him during her short stay. At least she didn't seem overly eager to hear of his misfortune; only passively interested, as was her right.
I am damned, he began, and faltered, his voice cracking a little. His brown eyes dropped to his snow-furred fingers, which seemed to take on a life of their own, fidgeting with the feathered hair of his forearms. Should he tell her the extent of his sin? What if she held the same views of his narrow-pathed family, and shunned him as well? He swallowed harshly. God will provide, he decided. He had come all this way looking for a place where he could be honest; he might as well begin now.
His eyes traveled back up to meet Eris', and he began his tale. Thou know'st that the Holt Shepherds art holy, and gentle. I was but a young pup when thou pass't through, not yet grown enough to turn mine eye upon the fairer of the village. When it came about that I was of such an age- Jeremiah faltered again, only for a moment. When that age came about, it were not the fairer Shepherds to which mine eyes fell. His throat worked, suddenly dry, and in his eyes showed a bare vulnerability. He laid himself naked before her. I am an abomination, he said quietly. Those feminine holdeth no sway over me, but those masculine... those masculine doth.
The young male took a deep, shaky breath. It was exhilarating, almost, to be able to confess. It is the custom of the Holt Shepherds, when one of the clan falleth from the path of the righteous, to shun the fallen. They thinketh that the fallen will see the error of his ways, and returneth to the fold. But I... it is who I am, the way that I am. I cannot change, and have no hope of acceptance amongst the Holts. In mine darkest hour, I remembered thee and thy tales, Eris, of a world entirely unlike mine own. Thou said'st thine journey were to taketh thee north, and so Black and I traveled north, to find thee and thy world.
Word Count » 859
KJERRING SLATTERN -- YEAH I CURSED AT YOU IN NORWEGIAN AND FANCY SCHMANCY ENGLISH WHAT NOW HUHUHUH ♥ also lol nosedime = nosedive in last post. what's funny is once in high school i was wandering the halls singing a song about a dime up yer nose and a teacher gave me a :| face and chastized me. bitch. NOSEDIME. it comes full circle. also wow i wordpuked at you
the world shudders as the worm gets its wings
The coal hybrid watched the equine move away, her chatreuse eyes focused on the shifting of muscle beneath his thin coat. Horses did not fail to impress her, though she was fairly wary of them, as well. She had never seen a spooked horse, but Larkspur had explained to her some of the finer points of horses, once upon a time. Were it not for their ability to be tamed and ridden, she might have regarded them as food. The wild ones were part food, part pet waiting to happen, should one possess the strength to tame it. Eris herself had neither the strength nor the inclination; the only creatures she was interested in domesticating were cats. She had seen small ones in Halifax -- they were gorgeously colored, with all sorts of patterns and coat types and sizes. Most ran from her, however, and she would not be able to capture an adult, she did not think -- they were fierce creatures, and even her own Itzcitla had been tamed from kittenhood.
The umbra colored wolf listened with interest as the man spoke, her curiosity immediately piqued as he spoke of damnation. There was nervousness in him, but the coal hybrid did not press him; rather, she listened in curious silence, wondering what darkness he carried with him. Looking at him, the coyote did not think she saw any -- such shades over the soul were generally clear as the full moon on a cloudless night to Eris. She could see such things, though she had been mislead before, too. The Kimaris had deceived her, but as they had been the eduators of this art, she might have expected such things. Their capabilities far exceeded her own -- Baphomet especially. That Mete and Dieriel did not carry with them the religion of the Eternians only made them more dangerous. They had not been bound by rules and regulations; they had been free to practice their deceptive arts with ease. Mantus, however, had been the orchestrator of it all, she knew. Now, however, the woman would not be so easily led astray. Not only had her own powers increased, but she was far more wary, and she would not fall prey to such traps again.
He spoke of things she knew, and her lemon-lime eyes widened as he continued, not at what he was, but that he would be rejected so completely and utterly from his home for such a thing. She had known such a thing, once before, but even that canine had not been forced to leave Eterne altogether. “Well, that is one thing you Holt Shepherds got wrong,” she said, punctuating the statement with a snort. “I knew a girl who liked other girls in Eterne. She was beautiful, but I never wanted her. I could have had her,” the coyote ventured, but she shook her head, smiling faintly. Appreciative as she was on the female form, the coyote was not one to love it. She required masculinity -- hard sharpness to soft curves. “She was no more an abomination than you, though,” the hybrid said, flatly. “What difference does it make who you love?” she said, wishing to substitute another word for love, though she did not wish to be too abrasive in the presence of Jeremiah, who was likely to be sheltered of such things and in a weakened state from the journey.
“Your people were useful ones. You learned skills in those mountains,” the coyote said, murmuring this more to herself than Jeremiah himself. Fighters or not, they lived in a foreboding and dangerous area, well-secluded from the outside world. They had helped her, no doubt, and she might have perished that night, but she did not grace them with quite so much thanks as to mindlessly draw one of them into Salsola's midst. Beyond his usefulness, though, she though he might be easy to steer toward their ways; no doubt, he might have some degree of difficulty in accepting them at first, but with such an indoctrinated upbringing and seemingly insatiable lust for the unknown, he might readily accept many more of them, coming to the harder ones later. Her sharp green eyes regarded him. “There is a place for you in this world, somewhere. Perhaps it is with me,” she began, turning her head and looking behind her pointedly, in the direction of Salsola. “You wouldn't be hated for what you are, at least,” she said, knowing this for a certainty. Whatever Bastion and Janos were, most of Salsola seemed to respect or fear them too much to question that relationship. Most were unlikely to even care, she thought. Such obvious relations were of little interest to her Salsola.
“Would you serve us? I have a superior -- he is my relative, Sirius Revlis,” she said, offering the first piece of Salsola she would give to him. In truth, she did not know what to call Sirius -- he was son of Dierdre, who was daughter of Thanos, her half-sibling. The hybrid did not have words for this relationship, but she didn't quite need them. Sirius was closest to her.
To Jeremiah, the short silence which followed his narration was incredibly tense, though it probably did not register so with Eris. The slight widening of her captivating eyes did not escape his notice, and he waited, breath held, for what he thought would likely be a harsh rebuke. She would make a disgusted sound deep in her throat, not unlike the one his mother uttered when he finally revealed his sin to her. "And thee, a Holt Shepherd! Jeremiah Ezekial, how could'st thee? Know'st thou not the weight of thy progeny?" The dark female would turn from him, cast him away, amazed that he would think her so likely to accept such an abomination.
But she did not, and the shepherd felt his world sway a little. He wished he hadn't been so eager to turn Black loose; he very much would have liked to steady himself on the sturdy weight of his dark mount. His warm eyes widened just a little, and his jaw dropped just a little more. To consider the Word wrong! For the Shepherds took their doctrine directly from the Holy Book, and did not the Book say that for a man to lay with another man was an abomination before the Lord? He had not thought that Eris would pronounce the Word faulty, only that she may be a little inclined to overlook his downfall.
The female had sugarcoated her statement for his benefit, though Jeremiah did not realize this, and took it for what it was. It is not love which mattereth, he said quietly, but with whom one desireth to lay. It seemed that this strain of the conversation had taken a turn, though, for Eris looked thoughtful. He allowed that her murmured statement was correct enough, though he did not speak at this point, for he could tell she was thinking aloud more than anything else. And then -- she did. She did! It was so much more than for what he had hoped, and despite those matters which laid heavily upon him, he could not resist a smile. Eris, I... thank thee. If thy thinkest I may have a place within thy community, I would gladly serve thee to the best of mine abilities. The dog had a lot to sort out within himself, but perhaps he could begin to do so in a place where he was accepted.
Word Count » 373
YESSSS <3 hey look a normal-sized post .___.
my road to hell is surely paved
The sable-shaded woman found blasphemy an easy thing these days. She had been raised in with the best of the Atotoztli, taken on and apprenticed to her uncle Baphomet, though he had never been kind to her regarding her hybrid blood, and quick to remind her that such a thing would bar her from ever truly serving the religion. The Atotoztli and the Kimaris family both had forsaken her, though, and Eris in turn forsook them all. She was glad that Tlantli seemed to take little stock in the orthodoxy of Eterne -- the hybrid did not think she would have been able to hold her tongue where that was concerned, but thankfully, Tla seemed to take little stock in the typical Eternian ideals.
“So long as your duty is attended, who you'd lay with doesn't matter to me,” she said, speaking truthfully -- it was more important in Salsola to attend to the pack than to worry about who which neighbor slept with, though Jeremiah might encounter some trouble if he were to keep secret his desires. Then, they might very well be weapons brought against him -- but such a thing happened only if he would allow it, she thought. “You should proclaim loudly what you are and bear it with pride. No one would be able to use it against you, then,” she said, punctuating this statement with a smile. The Holt canines might never accept such a thing, but Salsola would. Eris thought they might tolerate a great deal worse abominations than Jeremiah, should such abominations prove themselves useful to the pack.
“You shouldn't be so unfamiliar with our culture,” the umbra she-wolf said, thinking back on the Holt canines. “We like to keep our secrets close and we don't trust outsiders so much. If an outsider is not fit to serve within our pack, they have no need to know anything about us. You would find yourself at a low rank, perhaps for some time, but you would not be shown abuse and torment,” she said, pausing and adding a smile, “not with a friend in such a high place.” There it was. If Jeremiah chose to walk away now, she could not look upon him kindly again.
Jeremiah could not say that he didn't have reservations about taking shelter with one who so blithely disregarded the word of God. To see such glib dismissal of the beliefs he'd been taught his entire life shook him to the core; the Holt doctrine wasn't simply an idea, a belief to him, it was a way of life. God's word was never questioned in the Holt society. There was never any doubt as to whether it was wrong or right; it just was. When his attraction to males had asserted itself so strongly, when it couldn't be denied, it had never occurred to him that the doctrine may be wrong. He'd simply assumed that he was wrong, that there was some fundamental flaw within himself. He could not make how he felt come to terms with what he knew to be truth, and therefore his feelings were wrong.
But, what if...? What if the Holts had been wrong? If the Holts were wrong, did it mean that the Word was wrong? God forgive him for thinking such a thing! The canine just could not accept it. It was easier to accept that he was damned. Perhaps then it was only right for him to take quarter amongst those who, like himself, were damned. Jeremiah saw much Bible study and prayer in his immediate future. For now, he would go with what his gut told him was best; for all her worldliness, Eris had shown him a much kinder turn than his kin had.
To show pride in my faults, he said quietly, I do not think I could do. However, if thy kin will accept such faults, I should see no reason to keep them secret. The shepherd nodded his head as Eris described her clan. It did sound very familiar. To my judgement, it would'st be better to be of servile rank and accepted than for one's existence to be utterly ignored. And whilst I may not be the best example of my people-- he gave a sardonic grin-- I can assure thee that I know of keeping family secrets.
Word Count » 713
ERIS TALKS A LOT OK. also holy carp woman stop making me post a lot of words at you awkjfwkef
the world shudders as the worm gets its wings
It had been difficult for Eris, at first, to shed the Atotoztli's skin and come into her own. She had questioned herself and them over and over on that journey northward, whirling them in her head. It was not until she had come to this place, here, that she had settled her head and discerned the truth from their fiction. They might have gotten some things, right, as Eris believed there was some nugget of truth in nearly any system of belief, but that they were partially right did not prevent them from being grievously wrong where other things were concerned. Perhaps it was much the same with the Holt canines; Eris did not doubt that there was some deep, secret truth to their teaching, but one needed to strip away the orthodoxy and corruption of man and canine alike to find that center of veracity.
The sable coyote smiled at him queerly as he spoke of faults. How could such a thing be considered a fault? She herself tried to consider Salvia a lover of women, or Pandemic a lover of boys -- disappointed she might be in the loss of their heritage to be passed along, the coyote did not think she could ostracize them. She would have loved them all the same, she thought. He will learn, the sable-shaded woman thought to herself, pondering how long it might take him. If he failed to reconcile his thinking with his bodily attraction, it might tear him apart. The sable-shaded woman did not believe in denying herself or ignoring the desires of the soul; certainly, Jeremiah's orientation arose from within, and it would be an error of spiritual significance on his part to deny his spirit its sustenance. These thoughts she kept to herself, however, and smiled in response to his pledge.
“Very good,” the coyote said, her smile remaining on those sable-shaded lips. “We are called Salsola. Now that you have our name, there's no turning back,” the coyote added, grinning. She did not think Jeremiah would dislike their pack. Surely, everyone found Janos and Bastion somewhat intimidating, and her Larkspur was no great conversationalist, but the sable-shaded woman herself liked Jeremiah, and such an affinity boded well for the merle shepherd. Eris was not so difficult to please or demanding. “You'll remain my charge, I think, for the first few weeks of your membership. You will have to do as I ask, but I'm not so demanding,” the coyote said, shaking her head. She did not intend to treat Jeremiah or any other she accepted to Salsola as a slave, but they would do the bidding of The Auxiliary for the good of the pack. “I might ask you to hunt with me, or to teach my children a skill. Nothing truly servile. We have slaves for those needs,” the hybrid explained, mentioning only in passing the slaves they kept. Surely his book spoke of that -- the Quauhtli had mentioned slaves endlessly, or so she remembered.
“Walk with me and see,” the coyote said, waving her driftwood stick not-so-delicately in the direction of Salsola. “When your time as my sponsor has ended, I'll come to you and grant you a place in The Family's ranks, provided you have worked for the good of the pack and performed well as my charge. Otherwise, you'll remain in the low ranks until you can prove yourself,” the coyote said, explaining and speaking truthfully. Jeremiah was hers now -- he had agreed and pledged himself, and he had their name. “You're also supposed to present the leadership with a gift for admittance,” she added, smirking at this. “But you have come a long way and I am a patient person, if you lack anything of decent value right this minute.” She would not grant him a pass on this simply for their prior knowledge of one another, but she would be just fine with waiting until he had ridden his big black horse to Halifax and gained something of worth. “The gift -- it might also be knowledge,” Eris added, nearly an afterthought. She had not learned much of the Holt canine's beliefs, and as they were a religious folk, or so it would seem, she had an interest in them, as always.
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