whittling away at the time

Vesper · 12-17-2011, 09:06 PM

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Word Count → 331

Had Vesper been paying any less attention to the wood in her hands, she would have noticed that her companion was uneasy about something. However, even if she did see the other’s fur bristling, she assumed it was because of the cold; winter was making itself none these days.
She nodded faintly and tapped the point of the miniature spear with her finger; there was a tiny prick, though it wasn’t that sharp. There seemed to be no point in sharpening it any more, though, since it would be useless as an actual weapon. She turned the stick over in her hands a couple of times before the other’s question reached her ears.

“Hmmmm.” The coywolf looked off to the side, one clawed hand reaching up to scratch her shoulder. “Well, might’ve been a lie that he even was our father,” she murmured, but seeing the dark wolf grinning like a kid over the body of her mother had erased most of her doubt. Had he not had any blood connection with the two hybrid children, she assumed nothing would have held him back from killing the both of them, anyway. “He coaxed my sister into coming with him, after he…” She shrugged, not wanting to really disclose all of the story. “He just spun stories about the great life he had, about how much he cared about us. I guess it’s a far cry from tales about splinters,” she added with forced humor, but she didn’t want Alma to feel guilty about bringing it up. The loner had been asking for it by mentioning Marcel at all, anyway.

The suggestion made the hybrid’s blue eyes widen before she let out a laugh. “Squirrel torture sounds good to me,” she teased, but she offered the knife to Alma, deciding that she could sharpen the stick faster. Even if throwing the spears at the squirrels didn’t yield any hilarious results, Vesper knew that they could skewer the creatures and eat them later.

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