We Meet Again

Levent Kartal · 01-25-2012, 11:52 PM

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>> Reaally long post for my own benefit, haha. That and I love posting with these two! /sswm 795

Levent was aware of the dark promises behind the blonde woman’s smiles, but the depths of cruelty she was capable of—as well as the fear she had instilled in the tribe wolf who’d committed suicide—was beyond him. When she drew back from nuzzling him, her brown eyes brightening, he only saw a lovely woman and friend who had found the dream she’d been pursuing. And it made his heart happy, even more now because she was a pillar of familiarity and comfort after the violence he had witnessed. His smile was wide and loose as she gladly described how wonderful the land was, and his dark-tipped tail played behind him. “Duyduğuma çok memnunum.”

Wilson pawed at his chest, and he loosened his grip on the cat to allow him to clamber onto his shoulders, balancing precariously. Yellow eyes fixed without blinking on Amy as the white tail dangled down, flicking against his friend’s creamy-colored chest—as if ready to fend off any hand that would come near him. But he was quiet, and Levent was grateful for that. After his first rendezvous with the woman, his best friend had refused to speak to him for at least a week—unless it was to scold him furiously for being foolish or berate him until he took up the trade routes again. It wasn’t the first time they’d had a falling-out, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but the violence in the cat’s small body had scared Levent.

“I heard much about this place,” the Turkish wolf murmured, gesturing around at the wilderness passing by as they walked toward the wagon, “and of the many packs that live near her. Nova Scotia, right?” When those on the ship hadn’t been talking about Freetown, they had been jabbering on and on about the infamous packs. It turned out that more than a few Europeans had settled there, including a few prominent Italian and Russian families. The ties that could exist between a small peninsula and the landscape of Eurasia astounded Levent, and he hoped to forge his own—after all, there was no going back. Even thinking about boarding the boat once again, about hearing the wash and roar of the sea as his world rose and fell and rocked with the waves, made him sick. “Perhaps one day I can come with you to your new trade route,” he offered with a lazy and playful smile. “Unless I’d be competition.” Though he seriously doubted he would be operating as efficiently as he had back home. He could certainly dazzle the locals with some of the goods he had brought with him, but those would only last so long before he had to adapt to their ways to survive.

Levent stopped and chuckled as she indicated the wagon. He paused and put his hands on his hips, leaning back slightly as if to better take in all of it. “Muhteşem!” he laughed, cheeks creasing in another broad and theatrical grin as he came closer to it. Something sidled behind the wagon at that moment, but even as his pale eyes darted to catch the shadow disappearing, he put it back out of his mind. He doubted a woman like Amy would cluelessly let thieves near the place; and he wasn’t in a good position to be chasing troublemakers at any rate. Wilson would go flying from his shoulders if he tried to fight, and his body would likely betray him, still a tad shaky after watching the tribe wolf rip into his own stomach.

“Few can boast that,” the brown-furred man remarked. “Your name must ring throughout the lands here! Not a lot of traveling merchants, from what I hear; most luperci have to walk to Freetown to get their wares.” He had seen several folk pass through, either dropping off or picking up trinkets and carpentry and pelts and livestock. He’d thought about getting a horse for himself, as that would make the traveling business much easier, but after chatting with those in the pens, he hadn’t really found any that stood out. He didn’t want to make the mistake of giving the fur off his back to purchase one of the animals again, either.

He smiled again when he glanced at her then walked just off to the side and behind her as she ordered the horse to walk. The urge to talk to the wagon-puller was smothered as the creamy-furred dog addressed him, and he whistled. “A feast sounds great, I’m not gonna lie. I might lie about my travels, though—I’m afraid it wouldn’t make for an interesting story otherwise.” His tail wagged in amusement, and shoulders lifted in a shrug: one bearing her mark, the other covered by the pouch.

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