Word Count :: 441 Wooooot!
Wayne was homesick already.
Being away from Dixie-May was harder than not physically being in the Casa courthouse. He would feel at home on an ice flow with the little white wolfdog curled up against him. She had become a part of him since the beginning of their journey together, snuggled against him as they slept, joking with him as they traveled on foot or horseback. The loneliness that woke with him as he sat up in a cold bed at the break of dawn was staggering. It was a cliché, perhaps, especially for a gruff and no-nonsense cowboy like him, but it didn’t make the emptiness less real. Only his determination to be able to defend her, as well as prove his prestige as a member of Casa di Cavalieri, allowed him to still feel strong.
The Labrador mongrel meandered through the territory of Ichika no Ho-en with the gait of someone who clearly didn’t belong there: slightly lost, slightly guilty, but able to challenge the incredulous glances of the pack passersby. When the voice of his new mentor rang through the mountain air, he was all too glad for a direction to go in. He’d be able to explore and socialize more confidently after he felt like he’d accomplished something, rather than standing around as a guest of the pack.
Wayne passed the dilapidated houses in search of the scent of the Exultare woman, not bothered by the sight of the brick and wood and asphalt. He’d grown in a humanlike society, and while he retained a connection with his four-legged side, the mastery of horses and labor would not have come so easily to him if he hadn’t been “domesticated” in that way. Still, he did not look too hard until the tiger’s eye shape of the she-wolf met his gaze.
X’yrin looked completely prepared for their rendezvous, arms bound in leather and hair bound back in a single braid to keep from falling into her golden eyes. Her posture, even in waiting for him, was like that of a warrior; he never thought he would be able to compare.
The cowboy stood in his blue jeans and hat, casting the latter off to the side. He would get out of the denim pants if required, but he figured they’d serve some protection to his legs in a fighting situation; he wasn’t as attached to them, anyway. They were good as extra padding between his hide and that of a horse, but he didn’t think of clothes in the same fashion as the more aesthetically-focused luperci did.
Brown eyes lifted to hers, and he waited in quiet anticipation.
Image courtesy of just.jim @ flickr; Table by the Mentors!
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