hand covers bruise.

[Jeremiah Ezekial]

hurr durdur =lame=
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Soon after his first few steps into the chilly water, Jeremiah noticed a movement up toward the treeline of the beach -- a sandy form, hanging back, hesitant. The dog offered an encouraging smile, on the off chance that the coyote could actually see him from where he stood.

He turned his head at splashing behind him -- it was the slave Darijus, the one whose tongue had been removed at the Last Supper. The merle male's mouth went dry at the memory; it had been a horrifying event, and one at which his presence had caused him to pray fervently for forgiveness. He had gotten no reply.

He couldn't help but smile a little at the other dog's almost prim manner in mounting the wolf. The effort to save face was obvious, but Jeremiah thought that he couldn't be faulted for that. Heaven knew Jeremiah had enough faults of his own without judging others for theirs. The mohawked girl then started out across the channel, and Jeremiah followed, swimming with swift, sure strokes through the cold water.

He reached the opposite shore second-to-last, soon followed by the young coyote who had lingered behind. He ducked his head deferentially at the obviously pregnant Eris. Eris, he said by way of greeting, and began to wring out the loose folds of his sopping garments. He smiled at her quip, and perked his ears as she continued to speak. How would'st thee like us to proceed? he asked willingly. Despite all of his hesitations about the Salsolan way of life, Eris had opened her home to him, and for that he felt he owed her, at least, his unfailing loyalty.

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