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Lanzallamas
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The male wolf spoke of a close-knit atmosphere in these parts, and it made sense to el Extranjero, who got that impression as the same scents had appeared again and again, wherever he roamed. The Spaniard nodded. He noticed the stranger's exceptionally pale eyes pausing on el Extranjero as if trying to determine something; not being overly suspicious or anything of the sort, but perhaps about as curious as Gabriel was about his true intentions.
Or perhaps inclined to think that he and the other approaching coyote scent was somehow involved. The wolf kept his gaze on el Extranjero as he sensed it (as if it was somehow el Extranjero's fault), but the coyote turned his muzzle in the appropriate direction, suddenly finding the approaching scent very vaguely familiar. Another scent joined it, but they were very similar; one was female, the other was male. He was now quiet, awaiting the pair that were soon to arrive.
The four-year-old coyote was now hunched further forward, his chest fur pressing into that of the still unconscious girl in his arms, but his chin tipped up so he could see the landscape ahead at all times now. The trees were closer together, and then thinned... and there in a clearing was Santiago Rúmil. He was abnormally tall for a coyote, his eyes exotically dark; he was immistakably the creature he was looking for. He stood with a wolf, who the four-year-old did not register.
“Santiago,” he rasped, finally halting his infinate trek and, as he did so, sinking to his knees. El Extranjero frowned lightly, not recognising the name. “Santiago Rúmil,” said the coyote, placing the unconscious girl on the dirty ground in front of him. El Extranjero noticed the blood that caked the child's face; and the male looked even more spent. “I have finally found you,” to el Extranjero's surprise, the coyote said this in Spanish. |
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