12-28-2009, 07:20 PM
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| http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/anselm_table.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:225px; padding-left:15px; padding-right:15px; padding-bottom:10px;"> maybe do a fade out here or something? :o -feels like we've accomplished pretty much whatever.- xD Damn, he blinked, 'round here that'd be over half the pack, he said, somewhat perturbed by the notion of a pack so large that it wouldn't miss the presence of ten members for some length of time. In Nova Scotia, such a thing would be suicide--more of a last ditch effort for the bulk of the pack to relocate before everything else went to shit, presumably. Where he'd grown up packs of about 20 were typical, but at least a quarter of those were children under one year of age. A good number of the yearlings who survived dispersed, though a few of the most stubborn or devoted chose to stick around. He couldn't help but feel his parents would've been better off if they left, but they seemed to hold some strange loyalty to the pack that had never sunk in for him. The very idea of more plentiful lands had been enough to send him packing and never look back. As the subject of coyotes came up, he found himself wondering if his company knew what crew he ran with. His half-bred mother caught a lot of flak where he had come from, though around 'Souls it was a pretty mixed bag. Some of the wolves around here don't seem to care, but many still flat out refuse to give the same consideration to coyote borders that they afford their own kin, he stated evenly; although he certainly didn't condone attacking trespassers outright, the fact remained that the wolves were flagrantly disregarding canine law and that the coyotes whose rights were infringed upon had every right to retaliate. Eh; who's perfect? he concluded quickly, not entirely sure that he wished to delve into the subject too much. Though Anselm was probably one of the more sensible and least biased, it was still a sore spot he didn't like being poked or prodded. So long as there's no more of that nonsense, he added, speaking of their battle, I'll be just alright. Perhaps it was not absolutely true, but in the immediate sense he was feeling rather content. The mayhem was temporarily past; as he raised the bong once more, he resolved to enjoy swapping tales of foreign lands and long journeys into the evening. More than likely they would part ways and never see one another again, but for that moment... Here's to the night! he proclaimed, before the sound of smoke bubbling through water filled the garage. |