03-09-2009, 12:29 AM
[html]
500+
The young coyote was quick to respond, and the black fae listened as she faced him. She was silent with agreement. Indeed, her people were warriors, and they did fight fervently. The warrior wanted to ask the adolescent why his god-uncle would dislike her people, but she did not ask and was silent. It was often that there was no reason behind the dislike of a race or breed save for ignorant stereotypes, but she did not even know if this were the case. And she did not think that the young boy would be privy to the thoughts of his uncle, regardless of their relationship, for often adults did not explain themselves to their pups—or so she had observed. But her people were not without honor. It was perhaps a different honor than what other had, and the female had learned that quickly after fleeing her homeland with her father the crow-wolf on her heels. It was a wilder, primeval honor than that which characterized the changing world today. Perhaps this made her old-fashioned. Or perhaps this made her basic. Wild. Uncivilized. Perhaps that had been the root of dislike. Like devils, the youth had said, and she could not know what such words connoted without having known his god-uncle.
But the boy was not like...not aggressive towards her. His reaction seemed to be polite, almost innocent. The female’s face was unchanging for a moment as the white orbs regarded him, but then a slow smile graced her maw. And then a light laughter, a quiet, sound of gold and silver tones danced upon the air accompanied only by the ash. The black warrior relaxed, falling back upon her haunches. “Alright, coyote,” the alto tones sang. She was silent for a moment as she watched her woad band toes sift through the carbon. “I’m afraid that there’s nothing legendary to behold. I’m just like any other creature living in these lands.” The white orbs lifted to find the coyote’s face, and a warm mirth flickered within them. This youth provided for her pleasant company, for she had experienced the company of Svara, who sought to display her arrogance and disrespect in every waking moment. But there was something golden about the coyote in front of her, and it made the warrior smile.
“I’m Cwmfen nic Graine, Adonis and Head Warrior of Dahlia de Mai,” the warrior introduced herself, and bowed her head, perhaps a tradition of her father’s culture. The female rose with fluid grace that seemed to transcend the earthly. The woad banded paws carried her lightly, closing the distance between them with ease, but there was no hostility in her step. The female simply drew closer to the boy. Her maw was extended as it sniffed his neck, but her own was exposed, and it was like the ancient greeting of wolves. In this way she displayed to they coyote, despite his clan and the history between her pack and his, that he could trust her if only for this encounter. Satisfied, the warrior drew back, and her eyes turned down as she observed the blackened slope. “It must be wonderful to live nearby knowing that life will flourish here once more.”
The young coyote was quick to respond, and the black fae listened as she faced him. She was silent with agreement. Indeed, her people were warriors, and they did fight fervently. The warrior wanted to ask the adolescent why his god-uncle would dislike her people, but she did not ask and was silent. It was often that there was no reason behind the dislike of a race or breed save for ignorant stereotypes, but she did not even know if this were the case. And she did not think that the young boy would be privy to the thoughts of his uncle, regardless of their relationship, for often adults did not explain themselves to their pups—or so she had observed. But her people were not without honor. It was perhaps a different honor than what other had, and the female had learned that quickly after fleeing her homeland with her father the crow-wolf on her heels. It was a wilder, primeval honor than that which characterized the changing world today. Perhaps this made her old-fashioned. Or perhaps this made her basic. Wild. Uncivilized. Perhaps that had been the root of dislike. Like devils, the youth had said, and she could not know what such words connoted without having known his god-uncle.
But the boy was not like...not aggressive towards her. His reaction seemed to be polite, almost innocent. The female’s face was unchanging for a moment as the white orbs regarded him, but then a slow smile graced her maw. And then a light laughter, a quiet, sound of gold and silver tones danced upon the air accompanied only by the ash. The black warrior relaxed, falling back upon her haunches. “Alright, coyote,” the alto tones sang. She was silent for a moment as she watched her woad band toes sift through the carbon. “I’m afraid that there’s nothing legendary to behold. I’m just like any other creature living in these lands.” The white orbs lifted to find the coyote’s face, and a warm mirth flickered within them. This youth provided for her pleasant company, for she had experienced the company of Svara, who sought to display her arrogance and disrespect in every waking moment. But there was something golden about the coyote in front of her, and it made the warrior smile.
“I’m Cwmfen nic Graine, Adonis and Head Warrior of Dahlia de Mai,” the warrior introduced herself, and bowed her head, perhaps a tradition of her father’s culture. The female rose with fluid grace that seemed to transcend the earthly. The woad banded paws carried her lightly, closing the distance between them with ease, but there was no hostility in her step. The female simply drew closer to the boy. Her maw was extended as it sniffed his neck, but her own was exposed, and it was like the ancient greeting of wolves. In this way she displayed to they coyote, despite his clan and the history between her pack and his, that he could trust her if only for this encounter. Satisfied, the warrior drew back, and her eyes turned down as she observed the blackened slope. “It must be wonderful to live nearby knowing that life will flourish here once more.”