Word Count :: 326 :: I have a feeling this might be drawing to a close, what do you think?
He watched her flick away the cigarette, both thankful and disappointed to be rid of the scent of it. He looked at her again, watched as she tried to formulate her thoughts for a response. Would she laugh at him? It didn't seem past her. Would she use this new found knowledge to spite him in some way, call him weak and a coward like he knew he was? His tail twitched nervously on the soaked ground as he waited. Why did he care so much what Lucia thought? Perhaps because she reminded him of his mother he sought her approval.
Zalen regained his calm demeanor as she spoke. Well, that explained a lot about her. Having one’s mother be murdered and killing one’s father must change a person. But he hadn’t been changed… or had he? Was he so different from her? The only difference was she wore the darkness on her sleeve whereas he kept his buried inside. But Zalen had kindness in him, he had joy, he reveled in these things on a daily basis. This femme seemed to have driven those things from herself, perhaps seeing them as weakness. He understood her now, and wasn’t sure whether to pity her or what. He did empathize with her greatly though and in that moment felt more connected to this cold wolfess than he had anyone else he had met.
The rain still pelted them, but the thunder was rumbling past, heading towards the mountains. The air was so heavy he supposed Lucia could have cut a slice of it with one of her daggers. Zalen gave his whole body a shake, causing his fur to stick up madly in every direction. “You’re lucky… in a sense. You were able to avenge you mother. I was never granted such a chance.” He shook his head again, half-heartedly, “You and I… what we went through… we are survivors I suppose, just surviving in different ways.”
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