His presence on the border seemed to have drawn a member of the pack. Finch watched her approach with mild curiosity, his tawny head cocked to one side and his ears sneaking slowly back up into their usual alert positions. She was slightly smaller than him; he was tall for a coyote, if not nearly so heavy or muscular as most. It was her coloring that interested Finch the most, however; looking at her gave him the curious sense that she was standing behind a sheet of red glass. She was, he decided, a coyote forever walking in the light of a sunset. Finch himself had the usual sandy coat of a coyote, with the exception of the dark circle around his right eye and the black sock on his left back foot. She looked like she’d been dipped in fire; he just looked as if he’d had an amusing accident with a bottle of ink.
When the pack coyote halted in front of Finch, he suddenly remembered his manners. His ears dipped back down, and he bent his knees to lower his body a little. As far as he could remember, that was the proper way act around a pack canine. Why did all these rules have to be so complicated? “Of course not, Madame,” he replied, using his best polite voice. He couldn’t, however, wipe away his perpetual smile. Finch was about as likely to stop smiling as he was to ever actually kill someone: he’d never do it.
Faolin probably didn’t have the effect on Finch she was expecting. A scarred, tough-looking leader of a pack would make most lone coyotes at least a little nervous or worried. However, Finch continued to look just as cheerfully unruffled as he had while chatting with the skull. The reason? Finch was completely fearless. Not, of course, out of any sort of courage or bravery; both implied that he was afraid and simply didn’t let it stop him. No, Finch just wasn’t afraid of anything. In his mind, injuries and death were just things that happened to other people. Usually funny things that happened to other people.
"Why are you here?" the sunset coyote asked.
Hmm, why was a very good question. Finch usually didn’t bother with whys. He did things; he never really questioned why. He’d found that if you started interrogating yourself with difficult questions like that, the answers you got were rarely satisfying and you could get quite frustrated with yourself. Finch suspected, however, that this pack coyote wanted a much simpler answer. “To join, I suppose,” Finch answered, his tail giving a slight twitch that suggested he had only barely managed to stop it from giving a happy wag. “I’ve been told this is the best pack, and your welcome committee here,” Finch nodded up at the grinning skull, “seems happy enough. My name’s Kirin Kasarian, but most just call me Finch.” |