10-13-2009, 11:50 PM
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Hezekiah’s innocent question was just the kind of subject that made Snake squirm just a little. It wasn’t that he was self-conscious, or afraid. It wasn’t even that he worried about the truth about his character and how it would affect whatever friendship was possible between the two young coyotes. He didn’t fear isolation—solitude. He had lived that way long enough to understand it, and welcome it sometimes. No, Snake himself could barely grasp why it was such a complicated thing. He hated so much to think about it that he seemed to have forgotten the reason why it had disturbed him in the first place. Something told him there would be a bitter reminder sooner or later.
“Family—” the coyote began hesitantly, frowning viciously. His olive eyes seemed to disappear beneath his bandanna, that gift from his mother “I couldn’t understand it, and so I left.” And that was the short version, to say the least.
He didn’t want to start explaining about how he didn’t understand the concept of compassion, of any reason why someone would do something selflessly. Why his mother had risked her life for his, when he had been next to useless. What he thought about Patriot and Laurel, and the massive rift between them in those few months of his childhood. How he felt emotions in passing glances, and how the true things seemed to burn in his cold blood. He had been afraid, too. He had been afraid that one day his mother would realize that he was this strange, automatic creature, and would leave him. He was afraid that his father would realize this as well. So he had taken the pre-emptive step and escaped before they could truly find out the depth and truth of Snake’s character.
Hezekiah’s innocent question was just the kind of subject that made Snake squirm just a little. It wasn’t that he was self-conscious, or afraid. It wasn’t even that he worried about the truth about his character and how it would affect whatever friendship was possible between the two young coyotes. He didn’t fear isolation—solitude. He had lived that way long enough to understand it, and welcome it sometimes. No, Snake himself could barely grasp why it was such a complicated thing. He hated so much to think about it that he seemed to have forgotten the reason why it had disturbed him in the first place. Something told him there would be a bitter reminder sooner or later.
“Family—” the coyote began hesitantly, frowning viciously. His olive eyes seemed to disappear beneath his bandanna, that gift from his mother “I couldn’t understand it, and so I left.” And that was the short version, to say the least.
He didn’t want to start explaining about how he didn’t understand the concept of compassion, of any reason why someone would do something selflessly. Why his mother had risked her life for his, when he had been next to useless. What he thought about Patriot and Laurel, and the massive rift between them in those few months of his childhood. How he felt emotions in passing glances, and how the true things seemed to burn in his cold blood. He had been afraid, too. He had been afraid that one day his mother would realize that he was this strange, automatic creature, and would leave him. He was afraid that his father would realize this as well. So he had taken the pre-emptive step and escaped before they could truly find out the depth and truth of Snake’s character.
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