Broken Leash

Anatole Aston · 03-13-2012, 01:50 PM

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The big wolf watched his odd companion quietly, clearing his muzzle of the traces of fish as he did so. When the male nervously took a second fish, he snorted bullishly. “Eat,” he grunted, and looked over to where the eagle sat. Seeing the confusion on his face, she shifted her weight and walked a few steps closer to the unfamiliar wolf, her amber eyes astringent but warm despite the endless glare of her species.

“When I spoke of wounds,” the eagle began, looking at the brown male as he ate. “I did not mean physical. You are a boy who has suffered much in life. Anatole will be performing Atawetiyu.” This time, she looked to her ward. The dark wolf perked his ears up, and sought through his memory to find the correct translation. While fluent in two languages, his lessons with the Councilwoman were coming along. Without much to focus on that required his mind to wander elsewhere, language was able to grow and be focused on solely. “Donoma is speaking of a ritual. Atawetiyu is when words are spoken to ask for good luck; we use paint and ribbons to show these things. Blue is the color of the north; hardships come from the north, but water is also blue and water is healing.” He glanced to the eagle, who nodded shortly. Anatole still feared water, but he understood it was much like the fire—all things that were death were also life, as was the way of the great circle of the world.

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