He's on the porch of Haven Manor. Mid-afternoon of September 7th. Word Count » +3
Twice now, he had failed. Others had done what he could not—others had saved lives and saved face and here he was, defeated. The broad-shouldered wolf lay on the porch of the Manor, his pelt blowing in the autumn breeze. Deep aches twisted in his chest and belly, but they were not physical. Anu remained in the savage’s camp. His mother was caught up in this war of attrition, and he had barely seen the rest of his family since he had begun lingering closer to the Manor. He considered taking up residence there, but not now, while he could not bear to face others. Not now, when he could be the eyes on the border.
Those blue eyes, the color of dark denim, stared ahead at the landscape. His fur gleamed reddish-brown in the sunlight, bleached brown from exposure. The undercoat was naturally closer to an earthen hue, hidden by the midnight black that he and his mother shared. Often, he felt very separated from the rest of his brood—they were all light colored things like his father (though Cabria and Silvano were warm, chocolate-colored wolves), a man that Gotham had disconnected from early on. He had disconnected from most people, even his own mother.
A satchel lay nearby, dropped there after he had taken to the four-legged form he now carried. The bag was small enough he could tote it in his mouth if he so desired, carried only for the potential discovery of any new insects. Most he now knew by heart, but it was habit, and habit was hard to break. Gotham, for this reason, napped in his lupus form. The Manor was hardly quiet, but it was warm, and like it or not these past few war-torn weeks had made him desperate for company.
but it turned out the way it does with everyone
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