the moon and i

Vesper · 12-15-2011, 11:38 AM

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Word Count → 800+ :: Ack! I hadn't seen that you'd replied. D: Have this long-ass post. xD

The tale of the Zheynche and Vorrakess swirled in a cloud of pale vapor as Wolfgang began his explanation. Such pack conflicts, again, were something that Vesper had heard vaguely of but had no personal connection to, and so she could feel forced sympathy at best for her new comrade. Behind her attentive expression, however, thoughts whirled as she tried to figure how she felt about the story presented to her. The offering from the Vorrakess was generous, an extension of food and shelter to a group that needed the help. However, being caged to the ideals of another might be seen as an attack on Zheynche freedom—a possibility, though Ves obviously didn’t know these groups as well as the Vorrakess-born hybrid did. She could see the motives of both sides, standing here as an objective stranger to the conflict.

His pale eyes fell upon her, and the coywolf met them briefly. “A vulture steals because it’s the only way he can eat,” she mumbled vaguely, and as he described the massacre, she nodded, frowning. “But you were right to want to protect your innocent.” Oliver had been just a boy. Oliver had not been innocent. Oliver, even now, crept unwelcome into her thoughts. She shook her head fiercely to jar the memories and pretended that her tongue did not suddenly taste metallic. “I’m sorry they died,” she added, though the genuine words sounded false to her ears. “Do you… Do you think the war is still going on?”

She cursed herself silently for that question. Her musings would only alarm him and bring his mind back to the battle his family fought, the battle his family sent him off to die for. She wasn’t sure how permanent a member he might be of the coyote clan, but causing him to panic about his old life would definitely shorten that term. It was hard having ties to different lands.

Her awkward explanation seemed to suffice for the rusty-cream male. His next question was one slightly easier to answer, though Vesper didn’t know if he would understand. “You should be able to grasp the basics simply by wandering around Nova Scotia and Inferni. As for whether you want to understand someone specifically…you’ll have to just get to know them.” She smirked faintly then corrected herself with a shake of her head. “Like—I smirk a lot. Never really been able to really smile at most people, dunno why. Some canines are friendly enough that you can outright ask them what their face is doing and they might answer, but others you’ll just have to wait and watch, try to associate their expressions and words and actions.” It was chaotic one she stopped to think about it, really—but she’d been born seeing the very rare and precious smiles of her mother and the excited grins of her sister and that dripping grimacing smirk of her father during their one encounter.

“You’ll get used to it,” Vesper added, shrugging. “It takes time, but all of this will become second nature to you.”

She was amused by his abrupt smile but made no comment on it. This new question was one that should be easier to answer—though she had to find out the customs of Inferni through listening and watching more than anything else, as new as she was in the clan.

“Inferni is predominately coyote,” Vesper began. “They accept hybrids like you and I so long as our coyote blood is strong enough. When it comes to non-coyotes—wolves especially—some feel hatred or disgust, while others, like me, don’t really mind either way.”

That wasn’t to say she resented the policies; she placed more worth on the individual rather than the breed, but she knew that some coyotes in these parts had been hurt terribly by their wolf cousins. Had she grown up differently, she might have turned out like them—born of rape by a wolf father, member of a coyote band, knocked around by the larger canines as a youth. No one could choose their heritage, but no one could choose the bad events that happened to them, either.

“There are a lot of warriors here—and that is one of the rank tiers, the combat-based. There is also a miscellaneous one, for skills such as gardening and writing.” Hell, she hoped she was getting this right. “And a tier for scouts—the one that I hope to pursue.” A hint of pride—always pride, forever pride—lined her words, and her tail thrummed once on the ground. Vigilant as she was, she knew she would have no problem adapting to patrols for the pack.

“And all of these skills are mostly for the protection of Inferni. I know that many outsiders hold a bad view of us, sometimes for good reason, but most of what they say are scary stories. Not that the coyotes go out of their way to be very cuddly.” The tawny coywolf snorted.

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