Don't read too much into it

Malachi · 01-06-2011, 02:19 AM

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1307 words. Crazy Nuki is crazy, but she gave me an injection of muse!

As Malachi had expected, there came that strange look that other wolves gave to her when introductions were made. Did she look funny? Did she have something on her face? Gods knew how often Mala stood by a lake, river, or any expanse of water, looking into it and examining her face. Sure, her ears were shorter, but that was because she had a bigger head than most. And her muzzle was shorter, too, but so what? Malachi knew all wolves were different, and her mother had told her that she was special. Mala, despite spending long hours trying to pull at her ears to make them larger, still believed wholeheartedly she was special. She was a wolf, no matter how anyone looked at it.

'My kind?' Mala said to herself, her face expressing the same questioning look. One eye was brought down by a heavy lid, hidden partially, and her nose was scrunched up and her lips half drawn up in a 'what are you talking about?' look. It looked quite comical, for one, but the shaggy creature would have never noticed it. "You mean my tribe? I came from a Mi'kmaq tribe, from far up north," she said, now it was her turn to feel a bit proud of her heritage. It dealt her a great deal of pain, though, too, for the incidents that occurred a while back.. but to the large female, it felt as though it happened only yesterday. "We are peaceful wolves, everyone is family.." But Malachi trailed off again, her final words trailing off, as if a mouthful of buzzing bees was clogging up her throat. Tears threatened at the corners of her honey and malachite eyes, but she quickly buried her face in her thick neck ruff and rubbed her eyes against her fur.

The shaggy creature wished the subject was changed, then, and thankfully the pink haired female before her seemed to read her mind. As Mala blinked herself back into focus, the tears now vanished within her folds of chocolate fur, she studied the strange white female before her. Mala was actually quite surprised how much Orin knew of the history of language itself, how it went from humans to wolves like them today. She herself didn't think so much could be learned from books, though she loved great big tall stories.. both listening to them and telling them.

In her tribe, they never really needed books. All the stories they told to one another were from memory, and tribe members learned them well. It was simply passed on from generation to generation, and at least one or two storytellers conveyed enough emotion for everyone to fully experience the tale. That, to Malachi, was what made them memorable. Now that she was out on her own, telling these stories out loud to herself or to other wolves willing to listen made her realize how much she missed her home.

As they both made their way across the small town, each carrying their share of wood, it was apparent that Orin noticed Mala's little dilemma in kicking the pebble all the way to their destination. Malachi wanted to smile beneath the wooden planks she grasped in her cream colored muzzle, but if she did she would have probably dropped the pieces of wood. "Fank foo," she tried to express her gratitude, but again it must have sounded like gibberish with a heavy mouthful to bear.

The large, waddling female was glad they had made it to Orin's bookstore. Mala's mind was buzzing with thoughts, of what could have possibly been written about her, or even her tribe. They were a simple pack of wolves, just getting by peacefully, spreading their influences and lending a helping paw. What could have possibly been written about them? Glancing up, Malachi noticed the white wolf swinging open the door of a large building, and it gave way with little budging. Waiting until the pink haired girl was inside, and giving her a signal to follow, Mala soon followed, one big paw after another shuffling up the steps and into the store.

She didn't get to take a good look at the store, merely dropping the wooden planks gently beside where Orin placed her pile. Drool covered her load of planks, and as Mala drew her lips back in a bit of shame, she looked down on the floor. "Sorry, I tend to do that." Rounded ears caught the sounds of the bookkeeper needing repair help, and smiled when she made a joke about nearly nailing her fingers instead of the nail. Mala wondered briefly if Shawchert ever did that when he was starting out, only knowing that his line of art involved using hammers, nails and planks of wood.

Looking up at Orin, who gave her the invite to be comfortable, smiled and nodded, her heart warmed by the sentiment. "Thank you," she spoke slowly, like milk and honey. That was when she swung her head around to survey the rest of the store, getting a better look at it. Her stout muzzle was almost agape when she saw the walls lined with books, of all shapes and colors, and contained possibly the whole world in its pages. She was distracted, however, as a chocolate furred ear twitched at the word of 'skunk'. So that's what that smell was! Nothing really fooled Mala's giant black sniffer, but the store did smell a little funky, yet nothing she could quite pinpoint. "Maybe that's why he smells so bad, huh?" She said to Orin, glancing over at her and smiling jokingly. She chuckled lightly for a moment, shuffling herself along the floorboards and finding a nice spot of old carpet to sit upon.

When she settled herself, her head tilted towards the white female. "You know, you'd think with all this fur I'd be warm, and yet I still get chilly!" She stuck her salmon colored tongue out for a moment, the joke reminding Malachi of how young pups would joke about her mounds of brown fur. Mala glanced down at herself for a moment, a large body of fat and fur stuck out, indicating only time for hibernation. The female fought it, of course, as she did just about every year, but the overeating she could not help. Looking back to Orin, a knowing look crossed her own features. "I knew how to make fire once, my father taught me. You needed... erm..." She trailed off for a moment, lifting a large, grizzled paw to scratch behind one of her ears in thought. "Tinder, yes.. and.. we used flint, back up north. But I am not sure if anyone here does." Mala nodded, though she had met several different faces, she was still trying to get used to their customs, which seemed similar yet different.

She stopped thinking, though, and her head propped up on her shaggy shoulders when the female across the room was interested in Mala's native language. A smile stretched her creamy muzzle, finding it somewhat cute how she attempted to pronounce the words she herself used earlier, without even thinking about it. "Oh, yes. The language, it's Mi'kmaq. I still use it often, though I don't think anyone here knows of it," she said, shaking her head and looking across the room, into darkness. Giggling, she looked back at the bookkeeper. "You almost said that right. It's oqoti, o-gho-di." Her tongue moved as slow as it could with the language she grew up knowing, and it did indeed have a strange quality to it. "Would you like to learn some words?" The female asked, with a bit of hope in her voice. Perhaps, if something was written about her or her tribe, then maybe wolves from this part of the land could learn and never forget a new language.

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