Weaving a story of pity

[Dawali Amara]

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Word Count: 325 Still the scarred face before him was blank, not showing a trace of emotion, but the body of Mahlouk betrayed him. Ears flattened at the sight of the torch, and somehow Dawali thought he could vaguely see four legs trembling, those too covered in scars. For a moment the light-pelted one said nothing, but then responded in the same way as he had spoken earlier - shortly, in third person, and with a broken sentence. Dawali tipped his head to the side, increasingly puzzled. Perhaps he had woken the male up, and thus should leave, but something told him that was not the case. Unless, of course, Mahlouk spoke in his sleep. Whoever the male had been speaking to was not here, though, as Dawali smelled no one but themselves. Since Mahlouk obviously didn't seem happy with the torch, Dawali changed hands with it and swung it to the side, so it would not be so close to him. Something about the way the male behaved told Dawali that it was not simply a lack of intelligence, or a lack of enthusiasm, that caused him to behave like this. Perhaps he was retarded, although he seemed to be able to move himself fine. Glancing again at all the scars that ran across him like veins on the underside of a leaf, Dawali concluded that whatever it was, it probably had something to do with that. what person would sit still and gladly take the pain of someone carving into their skin? The red wolf was quite certain he did not wish to know. Making sure the torch was a comfortable distance away from them, but still giving them some light, Dawali spoke again, still trying to keep a conversation up. Welcome, then. His yellow eyes peered through the darkness and towards the place Mahlouk had come from, but he could see nothing - the darkness was too dense. Is this where your den is, Mahlouk?

Awesome sexy table and avatar by Kat! [/html]