@&#&$Stability was an illusion crafted by their own minds to keep them from going mad. No matter how many mornings the sun still shone and the birds still sang, he was convinced all it took was one moment for the whole world to delve into chaos. The standing record meant nothing when the world was filled with madmen and demons. Inferni's were rattling the bars to their cages--a crime had been committed and the perpetrator would pay in blood. The entire clan was buzzing with tension and the frequency of his patrols had become even more obsessive than usual. He passed through the same area at varying times throughout the day and continued to scope out the segments of their perimeter they usually took for granted. He'd do one sweep after another, sometimes changing direction on a whim--any who waited for him to pass risked a nasty surprise when he suddenly doubled back. The most minute detail caught his attention and all were subjected to a thorough examination at once. He hadn't touched or thought of his drugs in days--Axle and Grit would do fine until he found some way to deliver a message to them, letting them know that forces beyond his control would be keeping him away from the city longer than usual.
@&#&$Already on his third circuit for the day, the tattooed hybrid was prowling through the southern reach of their forest. The dead leaves of fall crunched softly under his feet; every several minutes he would pause, listen intently, leave a scent mark, and move on. For the most part things were quiet, but just as he finished placing a mark on the base of an old spruce tree, a snapping twig sounded like a siren in his ears. His nose lifted and he inhaled sharply; he could not smell any prey animals in the immediate area, but there was a wolf! Within minutes he was upon her, a spindly white woman with nervous green eyes and a patchwork shawl. That anyone had approached their border shifted was maddening in the first place, but during a time of war it was enough to send him into a rage. The only thing that held him back was her scent--she bore no affiliation to Dahlia de Mai. "You got a fucking death wish or are you just stupid?" he hissed, hackles standing on end as he glared her down.
@&#&$She dropped from two legs to the ground at once, crumpling into a foetal ball and shaking nervously. "No, sir! I assure you, I've come in search of the herbal merchant. I was told he lived here. Please, his name is.. Ansam?" He advanced steadily, gaze locked onto her throat, pausing only when she lowered herself to the earth. His ears pricked forward as she voiced her plea, which initially settled his nerves but then set his blood to boil. Nobody was supposed to come to him for this here--these dealings were to be conducted from Halifax only. "Who told you to come here?" he demanded, his tone now sounding as the low rumble of thunder over the venomous serpent's hiss. "I.. I don't know his name. He was tan and brown with yellow eyes," she whimpered, clearly a little perturbed by his overbearing presence. Fortunately for her, the description she provided rang a bell; he vaguely remembered some moron he'd traded for a couple bottles of alcohol back in the warmer months. He couldn't imagine how this girl was involved with Kern and he wasn't sure he wanted to.
@&#&$"What do you want," he spoke, gaze hollow and voice flat. Her ears perked forward and she stole a quick glance at his face. "I would just like enough to last the month, please." Her tone was hopeful now; perhaps he would help her after all. Anselm clearly wasn't intending to do anything to her--she'd hardly trespassed--though he remained understandably perturbed that she was taking the whole situation so lightly. "You know if anyone else had found you you'd be dead over some fucking weed?" he grumbled, his rough stare unyielding as he stepped closer to her, just an inch. "I.. I'm sorry... I didn't know I wasn't supposed to come here," she whimpered. Anselm exhaled an exasperated sigh; this was ridiculous. He was wasting time here and even if she was acting insanely foolish, he didn't wish to come across her corpse in two days time supposing anyone grew privy to her scent lingering on the borders.
@&#&$"Tell you what. You tell me your name and what you can do for me. I'll see what I can figure out." The amount she requested he had on hand in the den--it was his own personal stash that he wasn't intending to trade. Still, it wasn't like he was going to put it to good use any time soon. "My name is Shaila. I am a seamstress. I can make satchels, quilts, clothing for either wolf or were," she managed before Anselm cut her short. His tone was no longer impatient; now he was excited. "I guess it's a lucky day for both of us. I'll need two outfits, just in case. Made for warmth... and a hat, with plenty of ear space," he instructed her, cupping his hands over his ears to demonstrate and pausing when she shot him a confused look. "It's not for me. It's for my friend; she's built small. Keep the colours earthy, camouflaged. There's a city to the south for supplies if you need them, but I cannot take you. How long will it take? It's imperative the final exchange is low key, and not on my goddamn border," he finished, holding her gaze briefly to show he was serious--although he hardly expected objections.
@&#&$Surely enough there were none. She nodded, gave him a quote of three days, and agreed to meet him further into Arachnea's Revenge while the moon sat at the zenith. He watched as she retreated away from the borders, waiting until she'd disappeared into the dull grey and brown forest before moving on. Now he was just as concerned about other members being in the area as potential intruders--it was time to loop back yet again. Fortunately, the next several days proved rather manageable. He met up with Cotl to discuss traps; he even took an expedition to the city with several other members in tow. He half expected to run into Shaila along the way, but she had gone to a different part of the city. Before long construction of the greenhouse was under way and his granddaughter had turned up, something that both worried and delighted him. By the time they were scheduled to meet he was sufficiently anxious. More than anything, he wanted Alacrity to have the option for retreat. What if they had to fall back past the caves? Would they be able to find sufficient shelter from the cold surface air? What if they couldn't even find something even half suitable? He could curl up next to her, share his own heat--but what if duty called him away?
@&#&$He would welcome a time when he needn't worry about these things any longer. Fortunately, that time was now. A very brief yowl went up maybe half a mile from the border and he moved quickly, on four legs though he could've just as easily walked on two. His satchel was slung across his chest; inside were the promised goods. Maybe he'd give her a bonus if whatever she came up with turned out nice. As drew closer he rose to his hind feet, cursing under his breath as he stepped on a small twig. It was impossible to be stealthy in this form, but he supposed by now it didn't matter. Shaila turned with a broad grin, pulling from her bag the promised garments. "I do hope you like these, sir," she said, pride welling up in her chest as he took them and looked them over with an approving nod. They seemed about the right size and sufficiently insulated. The pale woman had included her signature touches and these were what made her work stand out most. "This is perfect. Thank you," he relented, the irate patrol and slick businessman gone, replaced only by a relieved suitor. "Here's your end of the deal," he said, nearly tossing her the entire bag but thinking twice. He handed the container off and neatly placed the clothing inside. With that they bade farewell. She immediately began to head for Halcyon Mountain; he doubted he'd ever see her again.
@&#&$He made a beeline for the borders, anxious and impatient for the morning to come. By his standards the night was still young; he had at least five hours to kill before he could even consider heading back to the den. He thought he might burst with anticipation long before then, and against his own will he found himself drawn to the mouth of the den they shared. Alas; he would rather contain himself than disturb the woman's slumber. He trotted up the small knoll and stashed the bag at the base of the oak tree at its summit. He reclined atop the boulder in silence, watching as the stars traced arcs through the clear night sky. His mind ran in circles, jumping between past and present and future. The faces of lovers past and enemies fallen danced before his eyes and he wondered why they were all so inconsequential. He wondered when the war would end. He wondered if Alacrity would be as flattered by his gifts as he hoped. His eyes widened and the wolf rose suddenly to his feet; why should he leave such a thing to chance? He would make sure the presentation was grand! Everyone was happier on a full stomach; he would go now and find them a feast!
@&#&$He shifted down into his four-legged form rapidly and set out on the prowl. He travelled south then east, his compulsion demanding he circle the borders yet again though not a creature stirred. His sights had been set high, though as the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes to hours, he was forced to abandon the idea of bringing down a deer (or even a hog or goat). Inferni's population was booming and he wondered if they would need to expand in order to keep the masses fed. The prospect of yet more ground to cover during his patrols was a little daunting, but he would always do what needed to be done. Whether that meant postponing his personal goals, extending his surveys, or taking down a grab sample of smaller prey tonight, so be it. He went for whatever he could sink his teeth into, running down smaller kills he would normally pass by in favour of "more bang for the buck" meals. Within several hours, he'd put together a respectable buffet. The moon beat a hasty retreat for the horizon as he journeyed back home, on two legs again for carrying all of the food in his mouth had grown awkward.
@&#&$Now for the finishing touches. Anselm arranged the food neatly at the base of the boulder, placing the spoils in a semicircle and in careful order. First came the appetiser: a small vole, a tiny morsel he'd usually throw back in one bite. It was one of the first things he'd caught, though he'd only been tipped off by an owl swooping after it. After the owl missed, he moved forward quickly and dug it from the shallow burrow in which it sought refuge. Round two wasn't particularly impressive either; it consisted of a slow-moving bullfrog he'd nabbed while searching for item number three, a decently sized trout. Beggars couldn't be choosers--he considered himself lucky to have found an open fishing hole at all. Many of Inferni's streams were iced over completely. A plump pheasant was arguably the main course (and the last before dessert). The final treat was a thick deer femur, scavenged from a kill that had literally been picked to the bone. The sweet marrow had always been a favourite of his and he hoped Alacrity would agree. Although none of his finds were substantial on their own, he figured both of their bellies would be full by the end of his extravagant five course meal. Failing all else, no one could claim he hadn't tried.
@&#&$Atop the boulder he laid out her new clothes. The two full-body garments were placed side by side and the hat was set neatly above them. The hat was crafted from the same material as one of the suits, a patchwork of brown, tan, and green corduroy that overlay a soft piece of felt. The suit had an additional layer of padding in the middle, a polyester fill Shaila had pillaged from the city. Taken alone it appeared quite warm and cozy; coupled with the second outfit it would be impossible to be anything but. The second piece was lined with an insulating layer of down and the fabric was smooth and silky. The inside layer was solid brown while the outer surface was a swirly, tie-dyed print of browns, blacks, white, and tan. They'd been stitched together with vibrant golden thread, and it was this accent that had sold him on the seamstress' creativity. The colours were reminiscent of Alacrity's natural pelage and though all clothes seemed sort of silly to him, he had a hunch she'd look simply stunning in it regardless. The most remarkable thing, he decided, was the mechanism used to secure the clothing in place: a series of magnetic snaps. These would make it possible for even a non-shifted wolf to finagle their way into or out of them if necessary, a nice bonus amenity he hadn't expected or even necessarily considered.
@&#&$His red eyes lifted; to the east the sky was just starting to show the first signs of day. The sun itself had yet to break the horizon--he still had time! He scampered down the hill quickly, body changing and shrinking as he neared the mouth of the den. Although he could sit hunched up in optime form inside, it was fairly awkward and getting through the actual entrance was even more of a hassle. He slipped into the cavern's interior just as soon as he was able, blinking as he sought out her sleeping form amidst a pile of pillows and blankets in the dark. She looked so peaceful and warm--it was a sin he'd have to disturb her. And yet, that was exactly what he did. He trotted over to her lightly, pressing his muzzle against her cheek as he nudged her so tenderly. It was a bold move, perhaps, but he'd held back for too long already. "Alacrity, come quick!" he prompted her mysteriously, his light and playful tone suggesting it was nothing dire--they certainly weren't under attack. With that he turned and trotted back out the den, loping up the hill and standing in front of his ridiculous shrine of presents with a goofy grin and a wagging tail. As soon as she was near, he stepped aside so she could see. Just then, the first rays of dawn cut across the horizon and flooded the barren plain in warmth and light.

@$%&Alacrity was a little startled at the ease in which she settled into Inferni life. There were many adjustments from the lifestyle she had been living, but part of her nature was to take such changes in good-natured stride. She had a suspicion that this was partially due to the consistent – but not constant – company of Anselm. Even if she could not quite pinpoint the exact nature of her relationship with the coyote man, his company always left her smiling -- and for now that was enough.

@$%&Living underground in the caves had not bothered her nearly as much as she thought it might have. Granted, she slept poorly the first few nights, unaccustomed to the acute quiet and the lack of currents in the air. Slowly, however, she grew accustomed to the stone overhead and the lackluster lighting of the indoor world. Besides, the caves were certainly much warmer than the exterior winter, something her thin-pelted self appreciated immensely. The cave walls were low and close, but the washed stone was much more inviting than the cut-plank structures common in European hovels. Alacrity was able to be at ease in this natural creation; she would come to call it cozy, in time.

@$%&By now, the wounds on her shoulder were almost completely healed; but the flesh had knit together much more slowly than Alacrity would have liked. Initially, she was sure it was due to the lack of her usual tonics and poultices that bolstered healing. Then she began to wonder if the wounds had been more severe than she was originally assumed – either that, or her body was spending so much energy keeping warm that it had little to spare for building new layers of muscle, skin, and fur.

@$%&Alacrity was not yet willing to test her healed limb with a run strenuous enough to keep her warm in the winter temperatures. Yet she was beginning to get restless – there were only so many stretching exercises that could be performed in the limited space of the cave. Still, she was a disciplined creature, and if she must perform the same basic routines three times a day, so be it. It wouldn’t do to not have full function of her shoulder when she finally did step into the outside world again.

@$%&Boredom was a virtual unknown for the African woman. Alacrity preferred motion over stillness, a trait which had opened doors for her as one of many younger daughters. Even if she had possessed an affinity toward idleness, the structure of her home community would not have generously allowed for it. Now, for the first time, she was forced into virtual inaction. This was the cause of a few days of distress on her part, until she began to take advantage of the books Anselm had laying around the cave.

@$%&In the quiet weeks, Alacrity slowly honed her reading skills. Previously, she was barely literate: what use did a creature confined to four legs have with the written word? Writing was impossible, and flipping pages a careful exercise in dexterity so as not to damage aging paper. That she could read at all was a testament to her mother’s influence as a future-minded leader – all of the clan’s youth were taught their letters. To keep up with the times, the matron had said. But it was the elder daughters, not the younger, who would have to concern themselves with written treaties and other dealings with two-legged folk, and so she, a humble scout, learned only what her tutors deemed necessary.

@$%&It was partially the struggle that compelled her studies. She might spend hours on the same page, willing the letters to divulge their hidden secrets. What she was reading was virtually immaterial – the important fact was that she was reading at all. In time, Alacrity swallowed her pride and asked her host for help, especially with cumbersome, technical words that were awkward to translate. These times of quiet companionship were ones she treasured.

@$%&And then it was one day, some weeks after midwinter, when Alacrity woke to Anselm’s tender caress. Startled but not displeased, she was awake almost instantly, and habitually blinking the sleep from her eyes. She allowed herself one long, luxurious stretch before following the male’s tawny backside out of the den. A dozen questions bubbled up, but Alacrity didn’t voice any of them – his tone had been mysterious, in the “you’ll-see-so-don’t-ask” sort of way. Having played the same trick on any number of hapless younger siblings, she knew well the best ploy was to hush and play along.

@$%&He led her out and up the hill, into the new sunrise. It was a lovely morning, and at first Alacrity assumed the summons had been due to the mild-natured promise of today’s weather. But she noticed, immediately, the garments carefully laid out on the boulder and the feast that accompanied it; and went, quite suddenly, very still. In that shocked first breath she recognized the kinds of gifts young suitors would frequently bring her elder sisters, seeking their favor. Anselm could not have picked a more perfect way to express his intentions, even if she, poor girl, had no idea what to do with the offering. "Anselm, what is all of this?” If she was pleased, it was lost in the confusion and bewildered look on her face, as emotion and realization rolled over and over in her mind, tumbling downward like pups wrestling on a hillside.




I am sorry my friend. Please forgive the obscene delays – I’ve been using this post to claw my way out of writer’s block, one paragraph at a time.

@$%&Officially, romantic liaisons were forbidden among the ranks of the clan in her homeland. The leader and her consort had the privilege of producing the next generation, and the group raised the youngsters as a whole. In her youth, the puppies had been her siblings, and Alacrity had accepted the policy as the way of things. The truth was generally racier, a fact which she was shielded from given her inexperience and social position at the time. There were numerous couples among the clan’s “working class”, carefully hiding the nature of their “friendship”. Most of these “secrets” were quite well known, but just as tradition forbade them, tradition also permitted them to be ignored. And, because the wild dogs’ bodies rejected the luperci virus, they retained the twice-a-year fertility cycle of their ancestors – accidental pregnancies were rare. Perhaps if the change had not passed them by, things would be different… but such was the way of fate, and thus tradition still held her sway.


@$%&It was in this environment that Alacrity was raised. In her world, she saw eligible young men compete for her elder sister’s affection, hoping for the chance of rank, or offspring, or hunting rights. Love went hand in hand with politics, and there was always a price. So even when Alacrity noted that her feelings for the Inferni hybrid extended past those of simple friendship, she had dismissed them as an impossibility. She viewed the situation in somewhat Victorian terms: she the daughter without dowry, he the gentleman with rank, family, and connections.


@$%&Still, it was a lovely gesture, and if Alacrity’s face was too overwhelmed to properly convey emotion, her tufted tail could at least sway in delight. Anselm’s gift could not have been more perfect – she dearly missed being out-of-doors, able to experience the landscape properly. “They are wonderful Anselm, truly,” she replied sincerely, and with considerable emotion. He was saying the sweetest things. “But… I can’t take these." She found herself unable to meet his eyes. Alacrity had never regretted her lot in life, or been envious of her sisters, until now. She spoke in a rush, and despite a heroic effort she could not quite keep all of the bitterness out of her voice. “My mother was a notable leader, but she’s gone now. And anyway, I am a lesser daughter and out of favor with the sister who took her place. I have nothing to offer you in return.”. She was blindly applying the rules of home to this culture, without pausing to consider differently. "I'm sorry." Strangely, while she had never thought much of the shallow, extravagant gifts suitors brought her sisters, she didn’t doubt Anselm’s sincerity or interest in her person. He, wonderful lad, wanted her happiness. But could she, despite all of her cheerfulness, shrug off the past and allow herself to be happy?




Awkward post is awkward. Let me know if anything doesn't make sense? -fails-