WC: 700
Her nose had brushed against the raised branding on his left flank. The obsidian female regarded it with a mild interest, the white orbs flashing with the function of the metallic treasure she had deposited before the male. She had almost continued on without noticing that mark for the thick fur, but her sensitive muzzle had found the depression in the fur and the raised scar-tissue. If she chose to mark herself with the brand that she had found, it would remain upon her being just as the brand remained upon the male. Had she been within her own homeland, the female would have immediately disregarded such suggestion, for such marks were marks of ultimate degradation. But she was no longer there. Here, in these lands, the wolves were strangers covered in marks of all kinds. She would identify herself with her own—here, she was a minority, an outcast, just as a member of a syndicate would be. Then she asked herself—was she like those who objected to society? Indeed, this society was not the same as her own. Even now she resisted assimilation. She did not want to lose her identity, and yet she was no longer a part of her homeland, of her pack, of her family.... TaeKyung had become a simple lone wolf, a hybrid whose only purpose in life was to fight, to become stronger, to be the best. A street fighter.
But with this male she chose not to challenge—not yet. The sound of his familiar voice drew her from her thoughts as she circled to face him once again. The lunar orbs were dull in the near-complete darkness, and yet they still found the light to glint with that ephemeral quality that did not reflect the darkness of her blood and soul. Only that he had drawn her from her thoughts was apparent as the Korean’s narrow eyes grew clear. She had understood ‘Just out,’ but the words ‘stroll’ was unfamiliar to her, and it was more difficult for her to reproduce. The Jindo hybrid was satisfied with the nuzzle he had returned to her, and her pugnacious nature was stilled. But the foreigner thought that it was almost a dismissive comment and chose not to question his diction. The black female simply nodded as the darkness of the room seemed to gather about her, the tendrils of shadow clinging to her fur with cold, powerful grips. Their soundless susurrus whispered with the voices of ghosts, the same ghosts that haunted her dreams and called forth the darkness from her soul.
The black auricles pierced the dark ceiling as his voice sounded once more in the silence. Had his tone been neutral, the obsidian hybrid would had understood his words to be the usual positive response to her question, but it was not so. The chocolate familiar held his emotions openly to her upon his voice. Was it a weakness? Already that week she had killed a sparring opponent for showing weakness where, in other battles, she had spared the life of the strong, hoping one day that she would encounter them, stronger, once more and kill them. The white orbs lit up with the passion of her martial art. But Barret was no sparring partner, she reminded herself. He was her only friend.
The lone female sat back upon sinewy haunches, the metallic brand forgotten now.
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