the trial of man (j)
#2
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Hello there! Big Grin I love your characters' literary names. <3



    The hybrid woman had busied herself as always with border duty. There were many times per day she ought to loop the borders—though she was confident that others were also partaking in this job of the clan, there was always room for one more ring around the borders. It couldn't hurt anything, after all—if a coyote was constantly pacing their perimeter, outsiders could not get in, and potential new members would not be ignored. Even in the heat of middway, the hybrid woman kept a quick, blistering pace. Her trot was all coyote, her feet swinging quickly and her long stride covering much of the ground as she moved forward.



    Before long, there was a scent on the air. The coyote paused for a moment, altering her course after dissecting the scent to learn as much about its bearer as she could. Male, young, coyote? That was always a good sign, and silvery paws carried the Centurion quickly to the youth's location. He waited patiently there, standing and looking rather awkward and out-of-place. He was indeed young, and he had yet to grow into many of his features. The lankiness of adolescence permeated his features, though he did not appear exceptionally underfed or abused, as some of the recent additions to their ranks. "Afternoon," she drawled, seating herself abruptly.



    Though her silver head was held high, there were no other outward indications of the woman's dominance. Her single eye regarded the golden coyote for a moment before she spoke again. "Don't suppose you're hanging around here just for fun, hm?" she inquired, a hint of jest in her voice. There was monotony in this process of finding strange faces on the borders, and the hybrid liked to avoid the same old questions, repeated again and again to different individuals. Some were necessary, naturally—but it did not make them any less tedious to ask.

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