but you don't really care for music, do ya?

Levent Kartal · 05-11-2012, 09:16 PM

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Set in Berwick, in a house near the borders.

Word Count → 324

There were a few packs and territories yet to explore, but when the merchant followed his paws, they led him west—cutting straight across the coast and the deep, tangled forest to a fertile valley. He should have recognized the path he took, but any memories remained rooted in his subconscious. Instead, he focused on the odd plots of farmland overgrown with weeds and wild plants and headed toward the coast, as much as it unnerved him.

The oaks and tamaracks dominated the area, but the wolf could see houses hidden in the leafy embrace of the great trees. Sometimes the rotten skeleton of a fence peeked through the shrubs, and once or twice his feet hit pavement instead of grass and soil. He had spent the last week or so in the great city of Halifax, but somehow this marriage of human and wild architecture was more intriguing than the skyscrapers and streets there.

Scent markers warned him from wandering too far into the town, but recognizing the scent Levent only smiled. He stepped onto a porch and noted the door—swung inward and off its top hinges—before entering one of the houses. Time had reclaimed this one well; in the center of the building, a bad foundation had faltered against the push of a tree. The sapling rose through the center of the living room and spread its branches over the couches, leaves stretching toward the sunlight streaming in weakly through the dusty windows.

One dark ear flicked at the sound of scrabbling in the far corner of the house, and he watched Wilson dart into what used to be a kitchen to catch the mice scurrying about; no doubt the tom would feast today.

Oddly at peace, Levent Kartal sank on the couch and pulled a case and cloth out of his bulging satchel. He opened the case, tenderly removing the handgun from it and beginning to wipe it down.

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