Word Count: 393.
Well, this was turning out well. As comfortable as Kai had been on the outside world, all of it had evaporated the moment they'd stepped inside of the house. Sicarus needed someone to direct him and guide him through life; he was nothing without a leader. There was an utter lack of accord within the tawny-furred werewolf without that; it made him strangely nervous without someone to follow behind. Still, his suggestion hadn't gone over too terribly—it wasn't as if Kai had called him a moron for saying something like that, but still... he didn't seem particularly thrilled about it. Sicarus was kind of cold, though, and the thought of a warm, roaring fire made him want to do something about it. He wished he hadn't left his cloak hanging from a tree; it would have at least helped to keep his skinny butt warm.
Motivation and approval were a dangerous thing for Sicarus, who got up to his feet as quickly as he could. The walk over here and keeping up with quick Kai had tired him out somewhat, but now he had a purpose, he had something to do, and someone had (sort of) commanded him to do it. Peering over the table with his sharp orange eyes, the wolf put his finger to his chin, considering his options for a moment. A normal, sane person might have attempted to find an axe or a similar tool in order to take the table out—not Psycho-rus. The werewolf backed up a few steps and took a flying leap, intending to come crashing down on the table with all of his weight. Boom! He smacked into the center of it, and the legs went crunching down, buckling beneath his weight. Quite suddenly, he was sitting down much closer to the floor, the shattered legs sticking out at extreme, awkward angles—not too unlike he'd been an hour or two prior, flattened out on the ground and beneath the other wolf.
He gave another ridiculous-looking smile to Kai, and got up, picking up the flat top of the table and holding it up, the pair of legs falling from it and hitting the ground loudly. "Hit it with your shoulder," he requested. There was nothing teenaged boys liked to do more than destroy stuff, and it had gotten Sicarus's blood pumping again.
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