a little more country than that...

Wayne McCoy · 11-18-2011, 11:48 AM

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Word Count → 574 :: emonoobcowboy

Wayne McCoy was grouchy today.

The following line should probably be “What else is new?” but the level of his grouchiness today had grown dramatically compared to normal. Since he woke up way too early in the morning—normally an impossibility for a country boy—he’d ostracized himself from the rest of the pack. It probably wouldn’t give the leaders a good impression, but at least he wasn’t the only former loner here needing some space, and at least he did his work quietly and without complaint.

His current task was firewood and the gathering thereof. Strong winds the prior night had knocked his carefully constructed pile over, leaving him to wander the path picking up the scattered twigs and branches and planks. It had taken him the entire morning to do that as well as transport his pile closer to where the others were, and by now, his mood was downhill.

And there was probably only one person who could cheer him up—but, lately, his best friend had been awkward around him. Something in the dynamic of their relationship had changed to the worst, and Wayne wondered if it was his fault—though he couldn’t imagine what he’d done differently over the past week. Perhaps it was the stress of a pack? Outgoing Dixie-May seemed to get along with everyone, even if she needed to be reined in sometimes, but he knew that this change in lifestyle was stressing him out a bit.

Adjusting his hat, the Labrador mix sighed and wandered to their home, wondering if he could talk to her—and maybe breach the subject of what the hell was going on the past few days. Maybe. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he kept walking until a whistle made his ears prick. His hat shifted, and he fixed it again before listening to the sound of hoofbeats.

She was leaving without him. Again. His teeth ground against each other before he reminded himself that he’d gone out by himself just a few days past.

Undecided, Wayne stood for what seemed like minutes before finally walking up to the horses, noting Duke’s disappearance. Fern wandered over to him, ears forward and eyes intent on him. A smile finally broke his stern façade, and he rubbed her muzzle gently. She nickered at him, and he chuckled. “You’re such a sweetheart,” he murmured, oddly touched by the large mare’s interest in him. She’d proven to be very kind and gentle before, but…he kind of needed this today.

Making up his mind, he left the horse briefly to grab the tack. He smirked at the foal, which checked him out and nibbled at his jeans once, and swung himself up onto Fern’s back. Yipping for the colt to follow—though Bark didn’t need prompting—he nudged her chestnut flanks and sent her cantering on Duke’s trail.

The sound of hoofbeats and the wind in his face brightened his mood slightly. He lifted a hand to keep his hat on, smiling slightly until he saw the small stallion in front of them, Dixie perched on his back. He pulled on the reins gently, slowing Fern down though still keeping a high enough pace to catch up with his friend and her mount.

Once he was almost alongside her, however, Wayne suddenly realized that he had nothing to say, and that again she was probably alone for a reason. Awkward, he averted his eyes.

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