11-28-2009, 12:45 PM
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 Jantus took a long look at the three-legged male, and chose to be silent in the wake of his poetic declaration. He couldn't weave words together all that well: he would tell a thing like it was, but there wasn't any beauty in the way he spoke or even usually in the way he thought. He just figured some speakers were born with the flourish and some weren't. Either way, Jefferson's statement had some power to it, and he waited for the moment to pass before answering. It was the Phoenix Valley alpha who resumed speaking first, and Jantus nodded solemnly as he finished. Iskata hadn't been murdered, and though Skoll's old pack had disbanded, some of the members had probably drifted into the surrounding country-side, probably taking up with other packs that remained intact. "Maybe we'll cross them on our way back," he smiled, before turning his head, an informal announcement of his intention to leave. "As for this pack, I'm glad it's leader saw fit to let us through. It'll be a hike all the way back to the last group--I didn't know how far away we still were when I left to seek you out. We'll be a few days yet, but I'll let you know before we're at your border. Thank you for your considerations on our account." Taking several tentative steps away from Jefferson's territory--more symbolic than anything, just a way of assuaging any 'forwardness' his next action might take, he began his shift back to two legs; after all, he'd need to take his things before he left. Jantus was an enormous person, 220 pounds of well-fed, broad-framed alpha wolf when on four legs. As his body began to change, though, it quickly became evident that he'd cut down to his own version of light weight to meet the alpha on peaceful terms. Over the next half-minute, fifty pounds of muscle had slid into existence beneath his skin; a half minute later and seventy more had piled on, and the shift continued from there. Fat kept up, of course, he ate too well for it not to, but it wasn't enough to conceal the bulging of his arms. By the time he was done, he stood at nearly eight feet tall and 600 pounds. Without ceremony he picked up his bearskin cloak and buckled on his mace-belt...which only fit because he'd punched an extra hole in it. Looking down to the alpha, he nodded his head in gratitude, flashed a smile and began walking away, a slight spring in his step. Despite all the ill news, he'd gotten permission. The trip wouldn't be in vain. |