It's Not Goodbye Forever

Noss · 03-20-2011, 09:41 PM

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Awww, but those ARE cuddly <3 They're so cuddly that they never wanna let you go Tongue

He might've been wounded at the 'fighting back more ferociously' comment had it not been true. He usually relented to Strel's willfulness, although he might force his way on certain subjects. He actually wondered if Strel would ever resist him more than his light beatings; for example, if Noss would really have to worry about moving all projectile objects out of Strel's reach during an argument. He was safe thus far, but the returning thought obviously stated that he wasn't ruling anything out yet...

Noss played a glare at Strel, although he supposed he had that comment coming. "And 'maybe' I think you're bluffing. You're not so cruel as to deny me after I travel across an ocean just to come back here, are you?" he said, puffing his chest out and placing a hand on it, pretending to pose in an offended manner. The pose was lacking in the drama that was required, not to mention it just looked plain silly for someone of Noss's build to try and play the wounded party. Secretly, such a thing would truly hurt Noss if he really did come back and found Strel gone. That would be enough to prove that Strel indeed didn't want him, and Noss would likely emerge from the ordeal more hardened than before. Rejection...well, he had been rejected on more than one occasion for various things, but he had never loved anyone like he loved Strel, and thence he was scared of what such a rejection would feel like.

Noss was surprised to find Strel initiating contact that time, taking his arm to sit next to him. Settling with one knee upraised and the other leg stretched outwards, Noss could feel Strel's stare as he thought about what would transpire. He would stash all his fears aside, for they were useless without much other proof to give them grounds, and would only cloud and burden him. It was not like him to even think of such terrible scenarios. But, he supposed that was what came with the package. He had certainly seen his father and mother fret over younger Ralla more often than not; she might've been a sensible youngster, but she had a habit of inadvertantly getting into sticky situations. Even now she still does, he thought with a snort. "After Ralla, the white one," he said in reference to Kemo, "and I finish talking with our chiefs--or whatever the white one wants to do--we're going to take the next caravan here. The nomads we're going to travel with come up once every month, so we're going to have only very short stays in the Moon Tribe. We'll all be back early in the fourth month, and thank the moon that they're dropping us off closer to here and farther from that Anathema place," he said with contempt. With a rising humor he realized he had made himself quite the despiser of two packs in the land already, and he not even a part of their packs yet. "But it's not like we're going to be kept there. They won't deny two former chief-to-be's and a Shaman. Bad luck keeping an angry one," he commented with almost no thought, the superstition having been drilled into his tribal raising. He looked back to Strel and contemplated him for a moment, a pleasant silence filling the void. "If I can survive a snowstorm I can survive the ocean and my father's scorn. But I promise to tell you all about the adventure when I get back. You know, 'if you're still here'," he said with a lightness in his voice. He didn't want to leave somberly or without good graces with Strel, because he really couldn't guarantee the notions that nature and the moon had; they were, after all, higher than he, and they needn't always concern themselves with his wishes, he realized.

Moon walks. "Moon talks." Moon thinks.

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