Dancing with myself

[Castor]

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He didn't really know what to say, which was just as well, because if he was a little more apt for conversation, he might have asked about Conri. What Castor did know, however, was to not touch the subject himself. If something had happened to the hybrid, she probably didn't want to talk about it, and blindly asking about where he had gone and if he was coming back was almost a guaranteed blundering crash course on his part.

With the screech of the raptor arose interest in the black male. "What happened to him?" he asked, for lack of anything better to say. He didn't have to ask why she was taking care of him, because he already knew. She cared. He wasn't sure what he would do if he found a wounded animal, whether he'd even bother to examine it or immediately disregard it. He was proficient in field-surgery, but he had only ever aided another coyote. Never a bird.

The fact that she had treated the bird roused about as many questions as the fact that she had been here for so long. It didn't surprise him. "I've never even lived somewhere for four months." It was his way of saying, whatever she was doing, at least she had something. She had things he could scarcely imagine. Things like loyalty. He couldn't imagine remaining anywhere for as long as she had, much less remaining here. He barely stayed within the territory for more than a day, and here she had stayed since she had been four months old.

"I don't have a den. I spend most of my time on the coast...or anywhere else than here." Because of the eerie fog? No. Because of a possibly deranged Omega? No. His reasoning was thinner than even the former. It was the attachment factor that he wanted to avoid, not to mention avoidance allowed him to stay out of the way other pack members, and anything that could be considered disorder. He had done his job thus far, according to these guidelines. His life was a constant sequence of starts and stops, and he had become accustomed such that anything else was a ridiculous idea. But the Pack of White Supremacy was somehow different. This was his test, and perhaps he was being overly cautious, checking his answers five times over, completely anal. The test was a single question: Can you stand it any longer?

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