[html]  The Alpha's den. Rachias had only just recently begun to understand that this was her father's pack, just like Inferni had been her mothers. She's always felt special cuddled up in the back of the coyote Queen's den, snuggled up with her family. A Princess she had been and now a Princess she was once more. Stretching her small body, the tan and cream colored hybrid suddenly appeared from out of the entrance of the den, muzzle opened in a wide yawn and suddenly snapping shut with a click. It wasn't unusual for the four month old to be up and out of the den early in the morning, sometimes even before the sun had risen fully, and thus there was no hesitation as she stepped her way away from the entrance and out into the open.
As always, it was relatively quiet, not a sign of a single soul around. Hell, she hadn't even met anyone else from her father's pack yet and she'd been there for a good little while. Shrugging that thought away, she started off toward the lake. The snow was coming down slowly in the cold morning air, forming a soft blanket of powder over the deeper snow that had already settled from the week previous. It was an odd feeling, really, with the white substance crunching up beneath the pads of her paws and the way that it made everything around her look. That was the whole reason she was heading toward the lake. It had been wonderful the first time her father had shown her and now, with all this snow, it was surely to be magnificent. |
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indent The crossbow had been a wise decision on his behalf—Ahren settled into a pattern in which he was able to hunt without as much effort as previously imagined. With his handicap (even though he hated calling it such), this became a necessity. Crouched low, catching snow in his hair, the red-eyed male had been awake for hours. He had intended to hunt deer, but no suitable specimens had crossed his path. Finally, fed up and hungry, he stood up and unloaded the crossbow, hooking it over his shoulder. From here, work turned into habit; not one minute after the fact, the three year old was heading off smoking.
indent What stopped him was a familiar scent. Two familiar scents, actually. His head spun, and found the source in a young girl. Clearly, she was a hybrid—and clearly, through an educated guess, he assumed she was one of Laruku’s children. She did look like her mother, at least in the face. It didn’t bother him as much as it did before; Ahren didn’t feel anything. “You’re up early,” he offered, taking another drag on the burning stick.
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[html] Your avatar is full of hotness and win. -nodnod-
Not only were her morning walks, adventures, whatever they were called, a time for her to get to know the lands, it was also a time for her to think. She was slowly beginning to settle with the fact that she did indeed have two fathers, instead of one, even if they were both in the same body. The first one, the father that she had been most aware of, was much stronger in presence and word, he was not a push over. The second, however, was more the quiet and defeated type. He'd fought with her for a time, trying to get her to return to Inferni, but eventually he'd just given up on it all. Her stubborn ways and wish to stay made her oblivious to the fact that he didn't want her there for a reason more than just not wanting her there. She could be putting him in danger, in all actuality, if Gabe ever thought that she'd been kidnapped or something of the nature.
It was the voice that broke her from her thoughts and, for a moment, Rachias thought it better to ignore the voice. It wasn't until she considered that someone might actually be talking to her that she stopped. Bright blue eyes set off in search of the voice, or rather the one that it had come from, and finally settled on the shifted male. "Who're you?" She asked then, immediately and almost suspiciously. She didn't know this person but, at the very least, she figured he wouldn't be there if he wasn't supposed to be. "S'not that early." She commented then, eying the smoke as it drifted into the air. Her gaze was pulled away quickly though, averted at the sight of something hanging over his shoulder. |
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indent Ahren was not blind to the truth of Laruku’s condition—he had been aware of it the moment his old friend walked into sight, sneering and spitting. They had spoken on the matter, albeit it briefly. The thing that controlled him was a monster, this could not be denied. Nor, he supposed, could the fact they were one and the same. It was understandable, from Ahren’s point of view—mostly because he suffered from blackouts as well—and was aware of a second darker force within his body. Only one woman knew the truth of that monster, and she was a million miles away.
indent Her response made Ahren smirk slightly. She sounded like her mother, full of spitfire (though not quite as vicious as the sort Kaena carried) and suspicious of the world. “My name is Ahren,” he said, flicking ash from the cherry-red part of the tobacco. There was no commentary on her response, since the concept of time didn’t matter much. They were not creatures bound by such trivial concepts. “Who are you?”
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[html] "Rachias." She replied, perking a brow up suddenly. He was a curious fellow, that was for certain. She hadn't quite experienced people just stopping and talking so..calmly. She'd seen the nervous ones, the ones that look away and stuttered or sometimes didn't even find the words that they were looking for. This one, on the other hand, reminded her of someone that was confident, something in the terms that she viewed her father, or rather, the first father. More curious than the way he acted, though, was certain things about him and also the things that he had with him. Rachias was silent for a short time, faded blue eyes wandering the form of the much larger male. Once she even leaned a little bit, stretching her neck out to try and get a better look at the thing on his shoulder.
"Whassat?" She asked then, using her muzzle to motion to the thing on his arm. "And that?" Again, using her head to motion toward the thin object he kept putting into his mouth. She'd seen fire and smoke before, sure, but she'd never seen someone put it up toward their face so willingly. Finally, in one last breath and one very odd look, she spoke again, yet another question. "Whats wrong with yer hair?" It looked different, far different than anyone else's had. |
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indent She wasn’t afraid of him, only curious. Most children were like that—he had been. Nothing in the world was scary, just peculiar. Of course, he had nightmares of a red eyed monster almost constantly. It had taken him weeks to disassociate that figure from his father, even though this pattern had returned over time. Damian was long dead, though. So was his mother.
indent At the final question, Ahren let out an odd half-laugh, amused in spite of himself. “Too much saltwater,” he offered, something that was not quite a lie. The woman who had styled his hair (a curious hybrid who often spoke of Africa) had done so at sea. It was, as she put it, the only reasonable thing to do. People like them didn’t have time to worry about how they looked. After another drag on the stick, he extended it slightly so she could observe. “This is a cigarette. You put tobacco in the paper and smoke it.” Or other things, if one was so inclined. For the final product, he didn’t even spare it a glance. “A crossbow. I use it for hunting.” Ah the drawbacks of being partially crippled.
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