03-07-2010, 01:28 AM
[html]
He had assumed his own Secui form. He didn't prefer it—too bulky for his tastes—but he knew it would be the most pragmatic to take into a planned battle. He knew to fight in Optime when it arose, unexpected. He liked to fight in Lupus because it felt the most natural (having spent half of his life in that form, it seemed a little more instinctual than anything else). But the strength of the halfling form would be important against wolves, their bigger and stronger cousins. But he knew how to fight, and he knew well. He had pledged himself to Gabriel's cause as soon as word had drifted out to the Landfill, his solitary home. When they left, Snake was amongst their ranks. He was ready, but he was not anxious, and nor was he excited. He did not revel in this—of course, he did not find such joy in anything.
The sandy-furred coyote was on high alert as they cut into Dahlian territory; he had come here once before with Hezekiah, and they had immediately been found by Haku and then chased clear back to Inferni. He was not going to retreat like that this time, no. They tracked the scent of the Dahlian leader, finally finding where he had made his home. Gabriel had shifted to his Optime form, lighting the shack on fire before returning back to his usual phase. Snake watched the flames for a moment (though his senses were still keen for approach) and then switched his attention to the Aquila. The man was laughing before the flames. Snake shifted his gaze.
There was no joy in war. There was no glory. There was no honor. These were illusions for those that thought they were there. War consisted of pain, suffering, regret, and death. Those who thought those were virtues in this world were unstable, but Snake did not actively pass judgment—that was simply how he had interpreted things. He had seen enough in his short life. War was ugly, but it was necessary. Inferni needed to fight to defend themselves against the masses of wolves in the area. He knew that. But that didn't mean that he had to find thrill in this. Fighting, like everything, was neural to the coyote. There was no joy or sorrow in it. There was only action.
His olive eyes continued to scan the surrounding area. This was a challenge, if anything. The fire was a blinking beacon, and soon they would arrive. Snake stood, tense and prepared. He was silent.
[/html]
He had assumed his own Secui form. He didn't prefer it—too bulky for his tastes—but he knew it would be the most pragmatic to take into a planned battle. He knew to fight in Optime when it arose, unexpected. He liked to fight in Lupus because it felt the most natural (having spent half of his life in that form, it seemed a little more instinctual than anything else). But the strength of the halfling form would be important against wolves, their bigger and stronger cousins. But he knew how to fight, and he knew well. He had pledged himself to Gabriel's cause as soon as word had drifted out to the Landfill, his solitary home. When they left, Snake was amongst their ranks. He was ready, but he was not anxious, and nor was he excited. He did not revel in this—of course, he did not find such joy in anything.
The sandy-furred coyote was on high alert as they cut into Dahlian territory; he had come here once before with Hezekiah, and they had immediately been found by Haku and then chased clear back to Inferni. He was not going to retreat like that this time, no. They tracked the scent of the Dahlian leader, finally finding where he had made his home. Gabriel had shifted to his Optime form, lighting the shack on fire before returning back to his usual phase. Snake watched the flames for a moment (though his senses were still keen for approach) and then switched his attention to the Aquila. The man was laughing before the flames. Snake shifted his gaze.
There was no joy in war. There was no glory. There was no honor. These were illusions for those that thought they were there. War consisted of pain, suffering, regret, and death. Those who thought those were virtues in this world were unstable, but Snake did not actively pass judgment—that was simply how he had interpreted things. He had seen enough in his short life. War was ugly, but it was necessary. Inferni needed to fight to defend themselves against the masses of wolves in the area. He knew that. But that didn't mean that he had to find thrill in this. Fighting, like everything, was neural to the coyote. There was no joy or sorrow in it. There was only action.
His olive eyes continued to scan the surrounding area. This was a challenge, if anything. The fire was a blinking beacon, and soon they would arrive. Snake stood, tense and prepared. He was silent.