04-13-2009, 08:29 AM
It had been a week since his talk, hunt, and subsequent activities with Cwmfen. A few days had gone by before he had gone back to the airport seeking the children he had smelled there before. He was getting hungrier for them. Even though his stress over his dispute with Cwmfen had been resolved, the hunger which it had engendered had not gone away. After discovering that he couldn't find those children, he had lurked around the periphery of the pack called Phoenix Valley for a short time, before heading northwest toward Dahlia again. He didn't want to eat them from Cwmfen's pack, but had only considered this by the time he was almost there. He had decided to turn back, when he found a new scent on the wind. His tail began wagging slowly, and his ears pricked up, though his eyes were unaffected by his delight. He began trotting happily toward the new smell.
It wasn't too long before he found the puppy he'd sensed from the wind. She wasn't completely wolf, he sensed, though she wasn't the same as the coyote puppies he'd recently devoured, either. Coyotes weren't supposed to be messed around with, his mother had said. They were small, too small to hunt larger game, and often didn't like wolves for being bigger and driving them off of superior packlands. Wolves shouldn't befriend them because eventually one species might have to compete with the other for land. Wolves certainly shouldn't love them, because then their offspring would be too small to compete with full-blooded wolves. Brennt's mother certainly would not have understood the situation in the Souls' lands, but for now he only considered her words passively. He had killed four coyotes by himself not too long ago, and eaten two out of the four. So far, he was fine. He wondered if his mother hadn't been wrong? Or perhaps he hadn't understood her meaning? It was very common for him to misunderstand someone's meaning, so he usually kept it in mind as a possibility.
"Hi," he said stupidly as she came into view. She had emerged more quickly than he'd thought, and the predator wasn't yet ready to come out. He had never talked to his prey before, and didn't know what to say. The pressure in his chest was building, he was about to do something bad, he knew, and so he was anxious. He was excited, too, because he knew how good and satisfying it would be. "I'm Brennt," he said, again, his voice so gratingly slow and dumb-sounding that it would be impossible not to notice something awry about the wolf standing before her. His eyes showed that lack of intellect more perfectly even than his voice; a dull and impassive quality about them seemed to suggest emptiness, of the mind, and quite possibly of the soul.
It wasn't too long before he found the puppy he'd sensed from the wind. She wasn't completely wolf, he sensed, though she wasn't the same as the coyote puppies he'd recently devoured, either. Coyotes weren't supposed to be messed around with, his mother had said. They were small, too small to hunt larger game, and often didn't like wolves for being bigger and driving them off of superior packlands. Wolves shouldn't befriend them because eventually one species might have to compete with the other for land. Wolves certainly shouldn't love them, because then their offspring would be too small to compete with full-blooded wolves. Brennt's mother certainly would not have understood the situation in the Souls' lands, but for now he only considered her words passively. He had killed four coyotes by himself not too long ago, and eaten two out of the four. So far, he was fine. He wondered if his mother hadn't been wrong? Or perhaps he hadn't understood her meaning? It was very common for him to misunderstand someone's meaning, so he usually kept it in mind as a possibility.
"Hi," he said stupidly as she came into view. She had emerged more quickly than he'd thought, and the predator wasn't yet ready to come out. He had never talked to his prey before, and didn't know what to say. The pressure in his chest was building, he was about to do something bad, he knew, and so he was anxious. He was excited, too, because he knew how good and satisfying it would be. "I'm Brennt," he said, again, his voice so gratingly slow and dumb-sounding that it would be impossible not to notice something awry about the wolf standing before her. His eyes showed that lack of intellect more perfectly even than his voice; a dull and impassive quality about them seemed to suggest emptiness, of the mind, and quite possibly of the soul.