02-21-2008, 12:43 AM
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   As some of Phoenix's weight shifted onto Skoll's frame, they began walking back the way both the alpha and their enemies had come. He could understand the larger wolf's reaction...death wasn't an easy thing to face, especially if it wasn't something you faced often. In truth, it wasn't even something that fighters faced all the time. He had run into a series of conflicts with an unfortunate rate of lethality. The Creek's dead accrued primarily of starvation, the Four Pack War's of steel and claws, the Shadow war's was as vicious as his past experiences, except that he had encountered death by ritual sacrifice, as well. The old wolf had seen far too much, and was rather intimate with death...rather too much so. His comfort with it had led him to make rash decisions a few times...to overgeneralize a few situations where patience and mercy might have been the better options. Still, there wasn't much choice in this case. Glaesring had come back once, and his hate had been undiminished by his second loss. He would have returned again, and the chances of his own death were too high to let the zealot have a third pass. "I'll say," he smiled, "Course, you're always the one coming to my aide. With you around, how am I supposed to get any more pretty scars?" Obviously humor. It was ironic that he was the only one who was ever in trouble. It was something of a reversal of what he was used to. Accustomed to the role of competent warrior, he was in the habit of helping others in danger, not being helped. His right(and only) ear twitched at his friend's next question. "No one's asked me that in a long time," he said, setting one foot in front of the other. "This is my...seventh winter. I was born in the summer, so I'm six and some months, I guess." He turned his head askew slightly, regarding the other as they continued walking. "What about you? How old are you anymore? You look a little older than when you got hurt in the pack hunt." ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written. |