Word Count » 311 So sorry for the wait.
His body drooped, curled over slightly as if out of pain or age. Hands cut up and wrinkled seemingly by time and by stories he could tell of his many experiences. However, this was not the coyote’s case. He was still young and hid himself from a world that could teach him much. Each bird song sent a chill down the boy’s spine and every rustle almost drove him to flee the scene. But he waited, still and silent as usual, hunched over as if out of pain or age.
So when the sound came, it was heard immediately much like the rabbit crossing the path or the branch creaking in the distance. Citlali was up from his mournful crouch in a second, ignoring the searing instinct to hide. The soft murmur of faint hoof beats grew rapidly until a snow-white rider approached on a fast moving mare. He was alone, but the expression he bore was curious yet sharply indifferent. The ginger boy inclined himself before graduating the awkward action into a bow. As Citlali rose, he let his distant green gaze rest over the Anathema. There was no immediate recognition.
The Kimaris stumbled over his words at first, looking anywhere than at anything.
“Hola,”
He responded in his own tongue, assuming the other canine’s foreign words were a greeting.
“I am Citlali … Kimaris, Confidant … of Salsola,”
The sand-toned coyote panted once silently. Why was he there?
“I was told that you … Anathema … had pigs. ‘would like to trade for two,”
He looked up after speaking and wanted to snarl at the way his words came out so panicky and nervous. Like usual, Citlali anticipated a look of contempt from the other man. His pelt looked soft and blank, as if unfinished. He knew he would have remembered such fur from the days in the tunnels.
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