05-28-2010, 01:34 AM
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(515.)
Since Haku had left, Dahlia had emptied out somewhat. Several of the wolves that had been more fervent followers of the demon left and King had not seen nor scented them around for weeks. So, really, there wasn't anyone but Conor to take over the pack—though King supposed that his mother could try, but he wasn't sure if that would work out very well. Even though King did not agree (and did not especially like him), he would not be able to refuse that Conor was doing an okay job, if you judged by the fact that they had not dissipated into the sands of time yet. In translation to the young Chance boy, it was boring. He had spoken the truth; he found that life was generally boring while exploring the quiet Dahlian lands, stilled and stagnant in the absence of the thrill of war.
The end of the short journey was signaled by a familiar scent to the youth—the coppery tang of blood that was thick in the air. It reminded him of so many weeks ago, when he had been in the center of a tumultuous battle that had begun between his mother and the hybrid-coyote from Inferni. He was confused at why so much blood was about before remembering that this was his father that was leading him. He shouldn't be surprised, and he shouldn't be afraid. He quelled those beginning rebellions of cowardice, trying to appear totally unphased by what they were moving toward. But, in truth, it was a facade—King could not help but have a dual sense of trepidation and perseverance. He would not run, no. He would stick through it, no matter what that weaker side of him said.
It was not long that he was led to the source, the broken and bleeding body of a man. King could tell by the twisted state of his limbs and form that he had been snapped like a twig, and the boy had no doubts about the culprit. The sickly-sweet scent of blood was as thick as a miasma around him, contributed by the wounds that King did not even bother to count. The dark-furred boy didn't know how to react at first, his borrowed eyes darting to his father's and then back to the still-breathing body. There was a wideness to his blue eyes that showed his surprise, but he hoped that whatever fledgling fear there was was shielded—he was trying his best internally to pin it down. He was not sure if he was supposed to say something, so he chose the neutral option of not doing so—he had not been asked anything, at least verbally. So he responded similarly, attempting to solidify his gaze and his stance as he looked at Haku once more. King took a step or two forward, to show that he was not a coward, though there was something gnawing at his gut and that made him feel shaky. He could only try his best to ignore it—for once, he could not destroy those feelings.