03-03-2009, 09:35 PM
The scent belonged to another wolf. Something deeper than Brennt's dull semi-awareness stirred at the feeling, detecting its own kind, another wolf; a rival? An ally? A primitive and natural thrill, seated deep in his subconscious mind, excited him for a moment just before the slowness of his usual thought caught up with it, and he began to consider the new smell in his usual, maundering way. Soon enough, the wolf he'd smelled emerged from the woods and called out to him. The fact that it was a large male, close to himself in age, was not a welcoming realization, but he was more perturbed than frightened. He was scratched and bitten, but it wasn't so bad that he couldn't fight again...not that he would have been cognizant of that if it had been the case.
"Hello," he rumbled back, his voice slow, the words were cumbersome on his tongue. He considered the stranger for a moment, but not too hard. His mind worked through its short cycle, drawing everything it was able to of this male from his appearance, which wouldn't be much even for an intelligent wolf, but Brennt's power to make inferences was far less developed than what might be expected from an intelligent wolf. The fact wouldn't be so bitter if he didn't know it was true. From time to time, he would hate himself for the sluggishness of his thoughts, and then hate himself all the more for being unable to hate himself fast enough. Further, his hatred lacked conviction, because he knew no strong words to apply to it that might give it power. No, his anger and his hate were simple things, because his mind could not fathom suitably complex ways to express them. They had no voices, they had no strength, only whatever his body could do, and a body was a poor instrument for breaking the constraints of the mind.
He didn't have any other words for the stranger, only the greeting his mother had taught him as a child. He wasn't certain yet whether or not he was glad this was a male. It meant that he wouldn't get those pleasurable, but flustered and confusing feelings again; but it also meant that it might be another Pallok. In all of Brennt's life, males had either bothered him, or left him alone. He had not known many, but among those he had known, most interacted only to give him instructions, and then to reiterate them in a way that was easier for him to understand. He didn't know how they always knew that he hadn't understood, but they always seemed to. While this should have made him happy, because it meant he made fewer mistakes, somehow it didn't. When they saw his stupidity, it made him bitter, and without expression, that bitterness never went away.
"Hello," he rumbled back, his voice slow, the words were cumbersome on his tongue. He considered the stranger for a moment, but not too hard. His mind worked through its short cycle, drawing everything it was able to of this male from his appearance, which wouldn't be much even for an intelligent wolf, but Brennt's power to make inferences was far less developed than what might be expected from an intelligent wolf. The fact wouldn't be so bitter if he didn't know it was true. From time to time, he would hate himself for the sluggishness of his thoughts, and then hate himself all the more for being unable to hate himself fast enough. Further, his hatred lacked conviction, because he knew no strong words to apply to it that might give it power. No, his anger and his hate were simple things, because his mind could not fathom suitably complex ways to express them. They had no voices, they had no strength, only whatever his body could do, and a body was a poor instrument for breaking the constraints of the mind.
He didn't have any other words for the stranger, only the greeting his mother had taught him as a child. He wasn't certain yet whether or not he was glad this was a male. It meant that he wouldn't get those pleasurable, but flustered and confusing feelings again; but it also meant that it might be another Pallok. In all of Brennt's life, males had either bothered him, or left him alone. He had not known many, but among those he had known, most interacted only to give him instructions, and then to reiterate them in a way that was easier for him to understand. He didn't know how they always knew that he hadn't understood, but they always seemed to. While this should have made him happy, because it meant he made fewer mistakes, somehow it didn't. When they saw his stupidity, it made him bitter, and without expression, that bitterness never went away.