regrets collect like old friends

Ephraim Fisher · 11-11-2011, 10:27 PM

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Aww. Only reason I replied to this so fast is because all of Ephy's other threads died. >>

Word Count → 465

The dusty-white female took a seat on the concrete, agreeing with his sentiment about the games the troublemaker was playing. His brown eyes looked over the older woman for a moment before nodding once more, confirming his position as her escort for however long they chose to walk together. He had never been the type of male to skip around impressing the women—just for a lack of attraction to, well, anything due to his hormonal imbalances—but his offer was out of kindness that was rare around these parts anymore. And he wanted to chat; he was lonely.

“Ahh, I’ve been alone for ages but never got used to it,” Ephraim said with a slight chuckle. He knew that part of his love for attention came from fear—fear of reverting into that frozen beast that had starved and killed. He always wanted a voice in his ear to bring him to his senses, even if the chances of him turning into a monster were very slim—as long as no one touched his food, at least. He pushed these thoughts away and dipped his head.

“My name’s Ephraim. I’m curious; where are you from?” The quarter-dog tilted his head slightly. Her accent was French—that he recognized from the French-speaking areas of Canada he had traveled through. However, she could have crossed over to Nova Scotia in a boat from some other country. It was amazing to a simple canoe-builder what great ships luperci could salvage and build. He thought about visiting another land, once, before the dreams of the mountains came to him. His place was here, at least until the dreams guided him again.

He shook his thick pelt then began to walk in the direction the old she-wolf had begun to head in, pausing to look back at her and see if she wanted to follow—or lead, rather, since she might have had some idea of where to go. Staying and chatting would have been fine, too, but he hoped that they could shake off the brat that had been watching them.

The howls made his hackles rise, but he was wise enough to tell when the same canine was altering their voice. After all, he spoke in a foolish lilt when he wanted to disarm someone; he knew more than anyone what it was like to put on different masks. Other than bristling at the eerie echoes, however, he made no comment on the noise and hoped that the woman, Éloise, would ignore it as well. He would never personally turn a deaf ear to a puppy, but being ignored by an adult was one way to bore them. Judging by the mentality a trickster like this would have to have, treating them like a child might work.

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