04-28-2011, 10:50 PM
The jackal froze. He didn’t hear a thing, no footfall, no breath, and that scared the hell out of him. It hadn’t been the first time he had been ambushed, many times in Europe a cunning hunter or lucky punk would get the jump on him. Usually he got away, there were times that hurt though. Ammet could hold his own but he was no fighter. This though, was one of the first times he had been ambushed without an attack.
For a moment there was no movement, just the ever constant shudder, the slow snowfall, and the soft billow of his cloak. Time swelled. Ammet’s eyes darted around the landscape. He could run, there were plenty of places to hide and in any other circumstance he would be sure he could lose his pursuer. But he was freezing, his muscles felt raw and stiff, his joints cried every time he bent them. Along with that, this other canine would know the area, and she was offering hospitality.
The turn of his head was slow and deliberate, as though moved only by the bitter wind. His left eye, the marked one, took stalk of Mabu. His lungs filled with the bracing wind as he tried to catch her scent. A mote of snow came to rest on his trembling nose. She seemed alright, she was larger than him, that didn’t help, and she was no jackal. She had some gold fur on her though, and at least she was clothed. Even with women, clothed was always better. Clothed meant he wasn’t dealing with a savage.
“I guess we could” His voice betrayed his suspicion and timidity, though it carried on the wind well. “If it’s warm enough I mean.” His accent was an odd blend of his old haunts with the altered vowels of Europe and the strange pace of Africa. He turned and began to walk toward the Luperci. His pace didn’t shift; he had to keep moving to keep warm. Occasionally the wind would catch the opening of his cloak, showing the handmade European clothes beneath.
“So who are you anyway? It’s not often I meet a good Samaritan.”
For a moment there was no movement, just the ever constant shudder, the slow snowfall, and the soft billow of his cloak. Time swelled. Ammet’s eyes darted around the landscape. He could run, there were plenty of places to hide and in any other circumstance he would be sure he could lose his pursuer. But he was freezing, his muscles felt raw and stiff, his joints cried every time he bent them. Along with that, this other canine would know the area, and she was offering hospitality.
The turn of his head was slow and deliberate, as though moved only by the bitter wind. His left eye, the marked one, took stalk of Mabu. His lungs filled with the bracing wind as he tried to catch her scent. A mote of snow came to rest on his trembling nose. She seemed alright, she was larger than him, that didn’t help, and she was no jackal. She had some gold fur on her though, and at least she was clothed. Even with women, clothed was always better. Clothed meant he wasn’t dealing with a savage.
“I guess we could” His voice betrayed his suspicion and timidity, though it carried on the wind well. “If it’s warm enough I mean.” His accent was an odd blend of his old haunts with the altered vowels of Europe and the strange pace of Africa. He turned and began to walk toward the Luperci. His pace didn’t shift; he had to keep moving to keep warm. Occasionally the wind would catch the opening of his cloak, showing the handmade European clothes beneath.
“So who are you anyway? It’s not often I meet a good Samaritan.”