when the words are aged, war is waged

[Itsihnalv Go]

[html]

Eventually, the young werewolf grew tired of his spot looking at the dreary ocean. It wasn’t particularly interesting to look at anyway; not that anything around here was. From what he had figured of Drifter Bay from the past few hours he had been wandering along it was that it wasn’t really interesting at all. It was gray, boring, cold, and depressing. He sighed, smoothly rising to his feet from his driftwood bench and started back along the way he had come. Itsihnalv was rather looking forward to getting back further into the mainland, and he thought Ataya needed a little break. He’d call for her later. He was more looking forward to walking and getting all the rest of his thoughts in order first.


He probably would have continued his walk without looking up from his immediate path if the actions of the previous few days didn’t leave a grisly reminder in the air. He immediately stopped, standing stock-still. The fur along his neck prickled at the smell of blood — not just the small amount of blood-scent that would indicate a trip, fall, and bleeding knee, but that of someone losing blood enough to perish — and he immediately whipped his head around to see if what had spilled the blood was still around. He almost started when he saw the figure of a golden-furred canine — not a wolf, but something that looked somewhat close — looking down at the ground around the spot that the blood-scent came from.



Itsihnalv didn’t move. He was definitely within sight, hearing, and scent range of the other, which meant he was definitely in the danger zone if she was, in fact, one who had spilled this blood the previous day. He wanted to get out of there, summon Ataya, and run to his sister to tell her of the violence that had happened here. He would have, if not for Uguna’s words in his ear. “You need the whole story to tell your Chief, Itsihnalv, not just what you think you have seen.” Though he wanted to disregard the piece of wisdom, it rang true with the werewolf. So he approached — very, very carefully — until he was roughly twenty feet away from the other canine.


“What happened here?” he asked lowly, his entire body straining towards running away. He was standing rigid, his dark eyes somewhat wide. Like an animal about to bolt. But still, he refused to run yet. Not until he had heard whatever the golden-colored creature knew.

[/html]