08-15-2009, 01:55 PM
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Dampwoods. Word Count: 320 His red fur was damp as he let his walking stick take his weight and swinging himself over a small stream. The stick didn't in reality take most of his weight as he'd jumped, but it was a nice support as he came down. He didn't come here to get hurt, after all. Or, well, he didn't know about that. He'd heard many things about Inferni, and none so far had been positive. Urged at length to stay away from them, he had done so, perhaps wisely. But now, things were changed, and he was changed. Now, this threat in the north craved investigation, and he was less scared than he would have been. What happened would happen, and what happened happened for a reason. Gvihita soared overhead, quite irritated with him this afternoon. She'd mumbled something about someone whacking some sense into him before spending the whole trip at a slow soar above. Though, if you asked him, that's exactly what had happened. Suddenly, all of his priorities had lined themselves up (which was very nice of them), and he knew what he had to do. He would not avoid this pack simply because of their reputation. Now, if the rumors had claimed they killed every living thing to walk near their territory, then he would likely not seek them, like he was now, but he'd heard no such thing. He'd heard that they were somewhat hostile, and that they, historically speaking, had been involved in more than one war around here. So, his life was not on the line, not yet, and until it was he would carry on as usual. He needed to establish contact with all of the inhabitants of this place, and so far it was only these coyotes and the pack of dogs that were unvisited. People might think him a racist if he did not pay them the same respects as everyone else. |