Salty Air and Wishful Thinking

Shiloh Dawnbringer · 09-09-2012, 03:11 PM

[html]

Politeness, Shiloh had learned, often got her answers she might not have received otherwise. Good manners were good manners, of course, and she had raised by her family to be a lady no matter what emotions broiled within her, but she’d learned enough to add an extra incentive. And it wasn’t really that hard to smile at a stranger; it didn’t hurt her to greet the black and white dog like she might a pack mate she hadn’t met rather than a stranger wandering near her territory.

Before the young musician could answer Shiloh, however, a third individual joined them: a wolf with a grey, unkempt coat and the reek of a pack she’d noticed encroaching close to Vinátta borders. She was about to greet him in kind (no matter that he looked so lousily messy) when he spoke up first. His voice was nearly as atrocious as his words, and the blonde female couldn’t keep her brows from furrowing when he rudely addressed the dog—before addressing her with the same nastiness, putting emphasis on the species term to let it be known it was meant to be derogatory. Shiloh was only a brief part of his schedule of insults, however, as he went back to questioning the collie’s presence.

What floored Shiloh was that this was so unprovoked. Had she known him better, and had she had her staff, she would have walloped him over the head until he lost consciousness, but she could only stand in speechless confusion before the floppy-eared female called him out on his obvious mistake.

Bless her heart, the Dawnbringer thought, blinking slowly before she offered the mangy wolf a pretty smile. “Oh, darling,” she said to the girl, “the poor rogue is probably blind.” She smoothed her leather coat and spoke to him in slow, innocent tones. “This is a coat, sir, not part of my fur, which you might notice is white, not filthy.” There was some trouble saying the last word without curling her lip, but she managed. That said, she put the wolf out of her mind (at least outwardly; he was carefully kept in the corner of her eye) and turned to the dog, Jordyn.

“I don’t know what he means,” Shiloh said, letting her brow furrow in a puzzled fashion. “My pack certainly wouldn’t reject your kind, especially if you can play that beautifully. We might even give you a place to rest, if you need it.”

Still wearing her smile, she let her slender hands dip into her deep pockets again. Her tail swished lazily, a metronome whose beats she counted to keep her composure. If this mongrel wolf wanted to make enemies with a sweet loner, by all means, he could. Shiloh, on the other hand, was glad to pretend to make friends—and offer the best impression she could of herself and her brother’s pack.

+481

Login




Remember me Lost Password?