sure, sure ^^ i've been trying to fix that table for ages anyway XD sorry for the huge post
Word Count → 500+
Sounds approached from the pack lands. Angel didn't turn around immediately, for his apathetic mind conjured up disinterest. His well trained ears however though differently, as if they had a mind of their own they flicked towards the words. Zoning in with coyote ears, he found that it was a child's voice. Rabbiting on about monsters and such. Again the Catalan was filled with disinterest, he turned back to his book. He'd speak his greetings if they came closer. But for now it was the tragic tale of Macbeth that interested him much, much more. Oh, if it hadn't been for the witches... Angel mused, turning a page carefully.
The mysterious duo approached carefully, a caution which Angel did not practice himself. Because of course if any violence were to occur, even if it were a surprise, Angel suspected he would be able to fend his pack mates (from what he could smell) away. This wasn't arrogance, nor foolishness. Angel would never had thought this way as a younger male because then it slimly would have not been true. Weeks, months maybe, or hard training had got him where he was now. And perhaps this was what his God wanted of him? Maybe this was the reason of Maria's death, to make him into a warrior. But for what? he considered, choosing now to rise from his sitting position.
His appearance noted his wolfish heritage, his height in particular. But to his brethren here he was no risk, he'd pledged himself to these lands and was swore (more by his own morals than any set ruling he had heard of) not to harm any. 'Hola' he said, using a language more comfortable to him. Icy blue eyes surveyed the pairing, one was a hybrid with a pelt that would appear whitish when spotless. The elder male was again a hybrid, definitely jackal. Angel had honed his 'heritage spotting' in his spare time, watching traders from all around the world go in and out of the port in Buenos Aires and the river port in Rosario. Of course there were times when he was wrong or simply couldn't place a face, but that was bound to happen. The sun had risen a few more inches since Angel had sat down and soon his rest would be over and his work, what it happened to be that day, started.
Perhaps he would find himself training again. A nice long walk wouldn't do anything but good. After all he walked, or rode, numerous times every week all the way from Rosario, where his trading 'offices' were based and where the river port was, all the way to Buenos Aires and the port there. Often to inspect their workers in the main port but some times to aid the boats and crew more suited to sea faring, up the Parana river. Though that was rare because, after all, 'parana' was derived from a phrase meaning 'like the sea'. Most often it was it was to do odd jobs, even though he had plenty of men who could do it for him. Angel never had enjoyed a desk job life, he had always been a hands on manager.
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