keep shooting at the devil.

Kaena Lykoi · 11-30-2010, 06:58 AM

[html]

Word Count :: 467 Dumb things can be adorable. Also, I suck and I am extremely late and I apologize. .___. We can scrap this after my post if you want and just cap it OOC, whatevs. <3

The pale creature did not seem to fear her, and it certainly was comfortable around Izaak. Kaena had never been much farther north than here in her life, and so there was no opportunity to see larger types of ungulates, such as this reindeer. Her remaining eye was focused on the creature, curious about his size and coloration -- she did not realize the creature was albino, and assumed his kind lived exclusively on permanently snowy tundra. “Fishing is how you catch these things,” the coyote said, jerking her head toward the pile of fish. “Like how you hunt to catch food,” the hybrid explained, knowing this would make sense to him. Everyone knew where food came from. Right?

“Well. I don't think the fish is good for him to eat, but it's fine for us. He eats plants, we eat meat,” the coyote said. Their diet was not exclusively meat, however -- even before the advent of cooking fires and human ingredients, canines had been eating grass sporadically, and coyotes and wolves both ate some kinds of wild berries. This was not their primary or preferred food source, though. The coyote thought it odd that this canine labeled her his sibling. There was simply no way -- the age gap alone made such a thing impossible, let alone that her parents had been dead and buried for a decade at this point.She did not question it, however -- maybe it was a deficiency in his language comprehension, and he had mistaken sissy for aunt or another familial word, or even term of endearment.

The compliment struck her, and she turned her attention away from the fish completely, lifting a brow toward the youth. Pretty was not a thing the silver-shaded woman heard often, and she leaned forward to catch the softer words, frowning. “You're not ugl--” the words were caught in her throat as the canine reached up to touch her face, and she froze. His hands made contact with the knotted scar tissue, and the hybrid peered at him, the expression on her face unreadable. A long moment passed and the touch was tolerated; the coyote did not move to bite him or even growl at him. Maybe it was his age, or maybe she had finally picked up on his apparent slowness.

“Fighting,” the coyote said, more than a hint of wistfulness in her voice. There was the broken thing, a warrior too old to continue fighting. Where was the glory in that? There was none, only resonating shame. She could have died in battle more times than she cared to consider, and here she was, shattered and physically unable to fight anymore. It would kill her, and she was perhaps finally sane enough to care if she lived or died. “Always fighting.”

Login




Remember me Lost Password?