09-21-2008, 04:44 PM
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wc315
-- The concept of 'making the pack a family' hadn't crossed his mind in the slightest, resulting in a rather puzzled and perplexed one-eyed stare from the male set on the disheartened matriarch. He swallowed his comments and simply nodded, serious frown set in stone on his face. Jefferson wasn't looking for a family. He wasn't looking for acceptance and he especially wasn't about to start sucking up to the higher-ups for attention. The hybrid hadn't 'connected' with another living thing in God-knows-how-long, but his scars had humbled him. His ears, though at a point torn and and wrecked, were still of definite use. The hybrid had transitioned to vagrant wanderer to immobilized guardian, as all he could do now was to speak and listen. Strangely, the male didn't mind at all. Her story--even its beginnings--deepened the frown on his face. His eye thinned but remained on her. He understood. Somehow or other, he understood. It seemed tragedy had been a bitch for the poor matriarch; the male shifted a little on his haunches, resisting the urge to shake his head in sympathy. It was a shame, and genuine pity for her rose. How long had it been since he'd felt actual pity? Mercy was different in so many ways, and even that ran thin in his bones. Such tragedy had only crossed his own path; the hybrid was 'fortunate' to have lacked the family to comfort in their own times of pain, but instead felt their imaginary scars in his own flesh. The ached he'd always felt... had always just been his own. He'd never shared them--and he'd hardly been shared to. She paused again and questioned his empathy, to which he straightened his back and looked upon her with complete earnesty. "Only when the whole of it has become too heavy for your shoulders," he replied quietly. "But I'm still listening." |