Intimidating and foreign

Thorn Russo · 08-27-2012, 08:24 PM

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Word Count :: 504

+5pts Optime form. 6-7 am. Just barely outside the stables. Life sucks and then you post. Smile Hope you're still up for a thread. If it's okay I'd like to back-date this about a week?

Vinatta had what would become an amazing brewery and homes for all those that called it 'home'. He had begun sorting his few possessions early in the morning, just before first light, arranging things close to how he had them back in Russia. He wondered, as he often did, what his family would think of this place. Until he made proper friends here and until he had gotten to know his pack mates his mind would always travel back to Sobirat'sya. He hated the fact that his life right now was a series of 'untils' and 'whens'. The big when, almost an if, had been to get into a pack in the first place. That was done, he had really liked the leader (above and beyond really liking his looks) and loved the vibe he experienced when he had let his paw hit the ground; the first step in Jordheim. Nordic theory and whispers had invaded his childhood, something too intrusive but the words of Thor, Odin and Loki had been breathed by the teachers. It all came full-circle.

That fateful step led, one after the other, to the homes he could choose from. His long home had been easily chosen amongst the other empty ones if only for the shape and the ample hoarding space. A time would come when he would want to properly get back into cooking and he would need all this space to store his tools. For now his knife and sewing materials lay in one of the little nooks and he was glad to be rid of the bone needle that for a while had been gingerly placed inside one of his kilt pockets. Needles and pockets didn't mix and it was a wonder he didn't have multiple stab wounds from his journey here. Other nooks and crannies contained bits of this and bits of that, shiny objects that helped him barter his way here from across the ocean. He only kept a couple in his pockets and hoped that they could be used, if the need should arise, to help sway opinion in his favour. Setting down a rusted chain link necklace he had unearthed he dusted off his paws, stood tall and made his way to the door. Fedora on head he went out and shut the door behind him.

There was one smell that still intrigued the black-tipped white wolf. The smell of stable and horses was as foreign to him as the smell of a snow sheep would be to someone who had never visited his homeland. He had seen and smelled horses before of course but he knew nothing of them. He knew they were useful and very intelligent creatures but how did other wolves interact with them? His feet were already on their way and he slowly made his way to the stables, stopping within sight to watch others going about their business.

Photo courtesy of fatedsnowfox

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