Naturally, silence never lasted and, especially in Shandom’s world, neither did serenity. A little female, coyote in blood, had sauntered up to him and remarked that today wasn’t a good day to be sad. Her comment made a small smile play across his face, though he remained silent – he was not sad; not in the slightest. Instead, he was relaxed and calm, contended to be alone in his own thoughts. She smelled of Cours des Miracles, the pack he’d chosen to make his new home, and he felt slightly guilty. Since joining, Shandom floated in and out of the packlands, an alabaster ghost against the landscape of an ending war. He hadn’t any interest in involving himself in these dynamics.
Part of him hoped the female would leave. She appeared youthful, which made him nervous him nervous, though he appreciated that she’d chosen her four legged form. The fact that she was blatantly confident enough to approach a stranger without much introduction was also strange to him – why would she even do that? Shandom found it disrespectful and almost downright stupid. For all she knew, he could have turned on her and killed her for merely approaching him. He wanted to open his mouth and chastise her, and then she did (what he perceived to be) the unthinkable.
She leaned into him.
Shandom yelped in shock, surprise, and moderate anger. He whirled to face her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. ”While you smell of Cours des Miracles, do not make this mistake of touching me until you are at the very least formally introduced to me” Shandom snarled. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end; indeed, his whole body appeared slightly larger for the impressive stature he assumed. ”Let me advise you this, young one – It would be unwise to approach a stranger like that. You do not know me, and I could very easily have attacked you for that”.
He did not respond to her request for a walk, though perhaps when he calmed down it would be a decent idea.
