I'll bet Alastair is just trying to get street cred by hanging out with all the big tough wolves... XD
Finn turned, still a little unsure of where and how to place her feet, and peered towards the forest’s edge. A familiar, asymmetrical figure was sauntering towards her. Finn grinned, waved, and started walking again. To tell the truth, Jac hadn’t been very far from her mind over the past few days. Whenever she thought about her current state in life, she thought about the stormy night she’d joined, and when she thought about that, the handsome king would stroll through her mind much like he did right now across the grass.
She’d never been bothered by the one arm thing. After all, she was missing an ear and a couple toes herself, so she’d be calling the kettle black if she said anything. She was curious how he’d lost it, but knew that sometimes some people were touchy about their old scars. Svara sure had been. In any case, it lent an air of mystery to him, and kept Finn guessing. Was it an accident? Or did someone wound him? Did he have to cut it off himself to escape a trap? There were so many stories of daring wolven heroes losing limbs, that Finn could list at least ten ways that immediately came to mind.
As she got closer, Finn flicked her ear happily. She tried to make a little bow, but stumbled when she lost her balance. ”Damn feet,” She said, looking down at them accusingly, ”It’s a bit strange, walking around like this.” It was taking a while to get used to this form. Her missing toes meant she had to walk with most of her weight balanced on the ball of her foot, and there were only two feet not four to make use of. She fallen a couple times, but luckily that hadn’t occurred in front of anyone.
”I was looking for you, your highness.” Finn murmured, watching the other canine with alert interest. She had no trouble looking him right in the eyes, those near-black orbs were a far sight better than her father’s in any case. His eyes had been the coldest, palest blue, ringed about the edge of the iris with black. When old, crazy Cuhlain had looked at you, it felt like he was looking through your skin, blood and bone, scorching your very soul with his gaze. Finn had never, ever been able to meet his stare.
A breeze kicked up, ruffling through Finn’s fur, and she mentally cursed the approaching winter. Why could she not have been born in a warm country? Somewhere with lot’s of deserts. Finn had only heard stories of deserts, but she liked the sound of them. Despite the poisonous insects and snake and killer sandstorms, living in the desert would mean she’d never have to see another snowflake again. She remembered the warming influence of Rurik Russo’s rum, and briefly pondered searching him out and bartering some more. Midway through that thought though, she remembered the way they had parted last time, and blushed, hoping she wouldn’t have to meet him again and explain the coyote ugly treatment he had gotten.