09-26-2009, 11:44 PM
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WC: 571
WC: 571
When the big wolf stepped out from the shadow of the trees, Finn wasn’t sure whether she should start running for her life, or facing him down. With someone that muscled, that tough and rough looking, you could never be sure whether he was simply scarred by the trials of life, or had been scarred for more violent reasons. She chose the medium, her hackles relaxing and her battered tail doing a quick wag. It was nice to see another here. She felt Alastair move away, and watched from the corner of her eyes as he put a bit of distance between him and the newcomer. That was Alastair, always cautious, and rightfully so. Finn was a bit of a freak when it came to food, but most other wolves had normal, healthy and large appetites.
“Nah, yeh weren’t too bad. I didn’t hear you coming till ol’ fuzzy here noticed, and even then I wasn’t sure.” She wiggled the stump of her ear roguishly and grinned a bit wider. Words! Actual words! Not grunts or snorts or bellows or anything else that left Alastair’s rubbery lips, but actual lupine language! Granted, this bloke had a funny accent that she couldn’t place, but that didn’t matter in the least. “Besides, four legs are often much quieter than two.”
That was the other odd thing about this wolf, the first being his eye. Finn was always curious about how others had hurt themselves, it was an odd icebreaker, but it worked a lot of the time. Comparing battle-scars and stories was always quite interesting. It was his shape, though, that piqued her interest more. He was one of those whatchamacallits, Luperci. She'd never been so close to one before and it was rather unnerving to see something that so resembled a wolf stand on two legs. At the wolf’s next sentence, Finn chuckled, casting another glance at the deer who was still edging away quietly
“Alastair? He couldn’t hurt a fly. At least, I think so. I haven’t seen him do much more than eat and annoy me. No, fangs it was that did this, many, many fangs. Oh, and a good helping of claws.” She couldn’t even remember all the wolves that had taken part in the scarification of her pelt. The latest one had been called Stefan or Steve, something that started with an “S”. Either way, he’d been loud and boorish and spoiling for a fight. Finn, though smaller and decidedly more worn, had still bested him and given him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. And, despite his incompetence he had managed to give her a mark she wouldn’t forget either.
“What about your eye? I sincerely hope it wasn’t gored out by a rabid deer, else it would make this conversation… awkward to say the least.” Finn relaxed a little more, confident with the space that lay between them. With the way this wolf was now, she was much faster and much more agile. If he made any threatening moves she’d be gone in the blink of an eye. For now, though, he seemed friendly enough and Finn was just happy to be in the company of another.