07-26-2009, 10:06 PM
[html]
http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... wicked.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:185px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:tahoma; font-size:11px; color:#C2A52C; line-height:16px">I figured this might be a good time to wrap up. We need to have another thread later, or something.. I'm glad these two hit it off! :]
------It was true he wanted no part in picking up the broken pieces of anybody else's mess--he had enough to worry about himself. If a group was struggling to survive, there quickly came a point where he was better off fending for himself. Then, he could keep his own kills rather than sharing them with the starving masses; alternatively, he could strike quickly and move on, rather than being drug down by any slow-moving pack, a more obvious target for ambush. If it were up to him, all his battles would be guerilla-style.
------He nodded as the woman spoke of her departure. Before he might not have understood, though now he could sympathise. Nothing really precluded him from leading his own pack, he guessed, save his own mental roadblocks. Anselm had no desire for such power, for all he could see was the responsibility that came with it. Although he basically considered himself on-call for whatever Inferni required of him now, he did not have to mediate internal disputes or be at the forefront of inter-pack interactions. This was probably better for everyone.
------The way she spoke of Inferni's brush with death only confirmed his earlier thinking and he nodded solemnly. Yes--it did seem like if they got too out of hand, others would respond. It wasn't as if they could expect much else, and he was quite pleased that Kidorah had managed to keep them from falling off the face of the earth. What would he be doing now, otherwise? He did his best to remember the litany of names she tossed at him--perhaps he could delve more deeply into who these coyotes were, but perhaps it was best saved for later.
------Although this entire encounter had been remarkably pleasant, he could already feel his feet starting to itch from idleness. He had plans to make, still more time to spend recuperating from his travels, and, perhaps most critically, he couldn't linger in the presence of his clan-mates for very long, lest he acquire the scent that proclaimed his affiliation.
------"Perhaps so," he responded at length. "Though we make our own future, it's hard to claim the present wouldn't be what it is without the past." He figured this somewhat-vague sentiment would translate well enough, as it complimented her own words--he certainly understood what she was driving at. He rose then to his feet, backing up a bit before stretching out and shaking out his fur. He'd mostly dried by now, though he was still somewhat damp and it caused his fur to settle somewhat oddly. "Speaking of time, there's none like the present. I ought to figure out what I'm going to do about all these packs," he explained, subconsciously glancing southwest in the direction they all lie.
------He began to trot past her, though once he was a few metres away he paused and turned his head. "I'm looking forward to our next meeting," he offered simply. With that, he offered a nod of his head and loped off down the shoreline. This encounter had been the necessary oil in the machinery of his mind--he was now mentally prepared for the task at hand. Now he only needed to give his body another day to catch up before heading out.
------It was true he wanted no part in picking up the broken pieces of anybody else's mess--he had enough to worry about himself. If a group was struggling to survive, there quickly came a point where he was better off fending for himself. Then, he could keep his own kills rather than sharing them with the starving masses; alternatively, he could strike quickly and move on, rather than being drug down by any slow-moving pack, a more obvious target for ambush. If it were up to him, all his battles would be guerilla-style.
------He nodded as the woman spoke of her departure. Before he might not have understood, though now he could sympathise. Nothing really precluded him from leading his own pack, he guessed, save his own mental roadblocks. Anselm had no desire for such power, for all he could see was the responsibility that came with it. Although he basically considered himself on-call for whatever Inferni required of him now, he did not have to mediate internal disputes or be at the forefront of inter-pack interactions. This was probably better for everyone.
------The way she spoke of Inferni's brush with death only confirmed his earlier thinking and he nodded solemnly. Yes--it did seem like if they got too out of hand, others would respond. It wasn't as if they could expect much else, and he was quite pleased that Kidorah had managed to keep them from falling off the face of the earth. What would he be doing now, otherwise? He did his best to remember the litany of names she tossed at him--perhaps he could delve more deeply into who these coyotes were, but perhaps it was best saved for later.
------Although this entire encounter had been remarkably pleasant, he could already feel his feet starting to itch from idleness. He had plans to make, still more time to spend recuperating from his travels, and, perhaps most critically, he couldn't linger in the presence of his clan-mates for very long, lest he acquire the scent that proclaimed his affiliation.
------"Perhaps so," he responded at length. "Though we make our own future, it's hard to claim the present wouldn't be what it is without the past." He figured this somewhat-vague sentiment would translate well enough, as it complimented her own words--he certainly understood what she was driving at. He rose then to his feet, backing up a bit before stretching out and shaking out his fur. He'd mostly dried by now, though he was still somewhat damp and it caused his fur to settle somewhat oddly. "Speaking of time, there's none like the present. I ought to figure out what I'm going to do about all these packs," he explained, subconsciously glancing southwest in the direction they all lie.
------He began to trot past her, though once he was a few metres away he paused and turned his head. "I'm looking forward to our next meeting," he offered simply. With that, he offered a nod of his head and loped off down the shoreline. This encounter had been the necessary oil in the machinery of his mind--he was now mentally prepared for the task at hand. Now he only needed to give his body another day to catch up before heading out.