.shylome p
{
text-indent: 20px;
}
</style>
"Always something going on with this cursed place."
Shylome came back from wandering briefly, only to find herself involved in some kind of conflict with another clan... not that she really minded the idea of conflict that much, it was just the idea of attacking wolves. Most of the strange ones she'd come across acted with a far-reaching civility... at least compared to what she was used to.
So she wasn't quite sure what she was doing here, though she came fully prepared to defend her new family. Even with her mind as experienced as it was with danger and carnal violence, extending that knowledge to wolves in general proved mentally difficult. They all seemed so pacifist. Any creature that could have a horse trapped a few feet away and not kill it... well, it was hardly a carnivore. Probably the most brutal exchange here would be of words and glances.
She yawned despite herself, her beady eyes fixed further into the territory. It occurred to her that if her friend was howling, she should probably contribute.
So she did, not with the native wolf noise, but with her own cackle, a noise arising from generations of derisive cynicism and grief that, at length, morphed into a language, a staccato call every bit as ghostly as the mournful legato notes of her friend and just as loud.