[M] Who knows where I'll be tomorrow...


Along his spine the muscles and skin contracted, making his plush fur rise in savage, black points. Anatole could see that something was wrong. More than that, he could sense it. Instinctively he recognized there was something wrong with the coyote, and he (being a creature of such instincts) felt the urge to cast it out. His ancestors had done such things, turning on those of different pelts, turning on the strange and the uncommon because they were different and this made them somehow wrong. He did not know of madness, or the illnesses of the mind. He only recognized the challenge and came to meet it as his blood demanded.

Another deep growl rippled from his throat. He outweighed and outstood the coyote in this form, and he doubted the scarred, scraggly man knew anything about fighting. Stiff-legged, his tail flagged up in a show of dominance. Rank did not matter at this point; between the two of them now there was a need for control and he would obey his blood. The woman was frantic. Perhaps she did not wish to make herself known, but her fear-scent mingled with the cold air and like that of a drug filled him with fury. Adrenaline and testosterone boiled in his blood, rushing from his heart to all the endings of his body that crackled and responded with fervor.

A wordless snarl demanded that the coyote stand down. Anatole knew he could kill him, and would do so if the need came. AniWaya had no room for madness, especially when it was still reeling from the aftereffects of war. Especially now they did not need some outsider coming to be a priest. Esepcially one who beat his woman and showed dangerous signs of aggression that were (at least this time) unfounded.

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