If I must offer friendship

Wayne McCoy · 01-16-2012, 11:57 AM

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Word Count :: 545
Rambly and quickly written. >>

As the dusty yellow dog stood near their timber comrade, not quite sure what to do, Dixie slid from the saddle and wandered over to them. Quickly, Wayne stepped back to give her some room, knowing that she was better than he was at inspecting and taking care of wounds. She'd saved his ass a few times during their journey, even if nothing completely serious had happened to the pair that had required more proficient healing skills. He hoped that this wasn't one of those serious occasions, that Lorenzo wouldn't simply pass out on them. Even though the Labrador mix was a pretty large man and was strong enough to wrangle animals larger than him, it wouldn't be a very easy feat transporting the giant secui wolf to someone who knew the healing craft better.

The male blinked as he realized there wasn't really anyone better suited to treating things like this. He supposed the leaders might have some rudimentary knowledge just like the Samoyed girl did, but even one unfamiliar with pack ranks knew that there was a distinct absence of a healer. A frown settled on his lips before he glanced back at the other canines, only to see Dixie leaning against the large young man and running her fingers through the fur on his head. Had there not been the sharp scent of blood in the air, Wayne might have muttered grumpily, but as it was concern and sheer common sense outweighed jealousy. He knew he wouldn't want to be in Enzo's dangerous position right now even if it did mean close proximity with the pretty wolfdog.

Enzo had a strange accent that Wayne really couldn't place, something that had shades of his father's Scottish speech, but overall it wasn't any stranger than the cowpokes' Southern twang might sound. He smirked and shook his head at the young Knight's remark. “You say that now, but it’s probably just the adrenaline talkin’,” the Labrador mix muttered to him. If the boy was anything like the impression Wayne had gotten of his swordsman father, however, he would probably be able to bear through the pain of even a larger wound. It was the amount of blood welling from the injury that concerned Wayne more than anything.

Hands thrust in pockets, thumbs hooked outside the denim, Wayne watched closely as Dixie surveyed the wound the best she could with her diminutive height. He grinned at her assurance about not biting then pricked his half-flopped ears as the wolf introduced himself properly.

The cowboy gave a nod; he'd known as much about his pack mate though they hadn't really talked before. Had the man not been related to the Sole, however, the name might not have been brought up. He pulled a hand out of his pocket as if to offer it to shake before remembering the other's form; the hand fell instead on the felled beast's neck. “Wayne McCoy,” he offered with more friendliness than he was usually able to muster. Hunting with strangers seemed to bring them close together; that was probably much of the reasoning behind the group hunts, he supposed. It was useful to have stock for the winter, but it was more useful to know the others they shared quarters with.

Image courtesy of just.jim @ flickr; Table by the Mentors!

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