Machidael is by Nat!

Machidael sorely missed his horse. He did not have so much to carry these days, but it would have made moving about easier -- even if the weight of both himself and Verenna wore the old stot down. Machidael glowered as he thought of her in the hands of the pale coyote, but he'd sooner abandon the horse than face her again. Unless he could spear her from afar. As it was, though, Machidael was strongly considering sticking a spear through Verenna. She'd yammered on and on through the entirety of their trek north from the castle just how certain she was of her pregnancy, and just how many sons and daughters she'd bear for him, and what she'd name them. Her suggestions as to that were positively ridiculous: children named after stars. Machidael was steadily losing his composure.

She had not taken leave of him since the castle, and his irritability with her showed. Though his tongue was more adept than it had been in English, he played the part of a slow learner, even thickening his accent when he spoke her language. He snapped and barked his orders at her, and watched her stomach sharply for signs of quickening within. He saw none, but he was not so adept with pregnancy, himself. Upon their arrival in Halifax, Machidael settled her into a basement room. The reversal of their roles astounded him: while she had been motherly toward him, caring for his every wound and cooking his meals and cleaning up after him, now she had the audacity to demand he hunt for her.

Machidael pretended to acquiesce and stalked away from her. He would hunt, eventually, but he was more interested in exploring the city for the moment -- and finding somewhere to bathe. He stank of Verenna, and of... other things, too. And, strangely enough, Verenna had not cared in the least regarding his indiscretion. Upon ascertaining all strange scents within the castle were thoroughly male, he assumed, she had simply considered it irrelevant. Machidael found this pleasing, but he realized rather suddenly his thoughts lingered on Verena again. With a scowl, the russet jackal stalked toward the sound of lapping water. The harbor was not far, and he found himself picking amongst the ruins of an old dock to access the water. The current nearly caught him by surprise, but he kept his footing and was thereafter far more careful, sticking to the shallows with a firm foothold while he rolled and splashed.

He cursed himself when he realized, upon leaving the water, all his things -- what remained of them, anyway -- were back with Verenna. It was only to stalk off toward the nearest mirror-like surface he could find -- the busted side-view mirror of a van, as it happened -- and with careful fingers, do whatever possible for his fur and hair.

Machidael is by me!

Raking his claws through his fur, Machidael attempted to straighten and fix himself to the best of his ability. He wore nothing today, for it was his whim and if the rust-hued jackal obeyed nothing else, it was his whim, arbitrary as they sometimes were. At least his hair was in relatively decent order: though only gray-brown rather than black, Machidael at least still found this color more pleasing than his natural copper, and he'd convinced himself it was, for the moment, better than true black.

So intent was he on his fixing and preening, the jackal did not hear the approach of another until a voice rang out behind him. There was a faint accent to it, and Machi did not realize its familiarity until he turned around and came face to face with -- Sepirah? he barked, a high-pitched jackal's noise. Well shit -- it's been a while, he said in Arabic, grinning fiercely and almost as if to display the golden tooth now occupying his canine. He licked his lips, gazing upon her with the sharp look of a predatory creature.

You grew up, dear sister, he remarked, leaning back against the rusting van with nary a care for the jagged edges and rusted streaks. There was appreciation in his gaze -- dry, undesirous, but nonetheless appreciation -- along with a hefty dose of wariness. There was a snake wrapped about her shoulders, and Machidael eyed it suspiciously, not wanting to get too close. He thought he recognized the breed, and its v-shaped head, in any case, told him plainly enough the venomous nature of the species.

Machidael is by me!

He had a certain respect for his sister. There was not the same deep fear he had with Mkhai, but the rust-hued canine did have that much for her. His siblings were perhaps the only creatures on the earth he did respect -- and that was only a cursory sort of respect. Looking at Sepirah, a twitch in his belly told him plainly enough he'd disrespect their sibling's bond given half a chance. But -- that was only if opportunity truly presented itself. At the present, he was content to converse with her -- especially because they were speaking Arabic, and it was lovely to finally converse in his native language.

The rust-colored hybrid considered her question with a tilt of his head. He was still fiddling with one braid, but now he tossed the damp things behind his shoulder and leaned against the rusted hulk of a van. It gave a creak, but did not shift or collapse beneath the jackal's weight. Neh, he said, dismissively. I ran with desert raiders -- I was betrayed by a friend. I went home -- I was derided as a fraud. Mother never proved our heritage, after all. He rolled his eyes at this, jerking his slim muzzle away from her so he might look down the street and strike a picturesque, hard and distant sort of look. I won a ship -- won, he repeated. And one of the crew betrayed me.

In summary: Shit, shit, more shit, he said, shrugging indifferently. He looked back toward her with his striking red eyes, lingering on the snake a moment. You?

Machidael is by Nat!

Machi did not consider his existence thus far to be particularly interesting. The rust-colored jackal had owned only the damn ship, and the crew had denied him that right, as well. Though -- he supposed that was alright, since he had ended up precisely where he was meant to be, or so it seemed. He had never commanded real power -- only that which was staked on fear and the threat of physical punishment. One piece of chattel or the next, he could never have more than one or perhaps two at a time -- more and he would be overpowered. Machidael inspired no loyalty, gathered no followers, and was therefore restricted to only that which could be taken by force.

He could only shrug in response to her query. He might speak about Verenna, he might speak about her purported pregnancy, but that nagging dark thing in the corner of his mind told him to remain silent. What if she wasn't really pregnant, and only pretending -- or worse? His interest, however, returned immediately on her speaking a few names he certainly recognized. One was his own surname, garbled as it was coming out of his mouth, and the other was vaguely recognizable in the same way. It had been the place their mother would have taken them. He considered, the look of clear contemplation plastered on his coal and rust streaked face.

Are they idiots? he asked, head cocked to the side. He knew only Sebante, the betrayer; the little idiot he'd encountered in the far north; and Verenna, queen of the morons. Did you find our father?

Machidael is by me!

Hm, he said, drawing his head back as he considered thoughtfully. He had never held hope of finding an oasis of intelligence, canines who would value him for who he was and what he was capable of -- but perhaps some small and childishly optimistic part had held out over the years after all. Just then, he'd felt its death, but it was hardly something to weigh on his mind: just the lifting of a feather-light, barely perceptible shift.

Ancestry is meaningless in the end, he said, giving a shooing sort of gesture with one hand. Unproven ancestry is especially useless. How do you know Kaena is our grandmother, lacking our paternal link? Be careful they don't throw you out on your ass like al-Iskandariyya did to us. He did not sound especially concerned, nor look it -- consumed as he was in picking off a flaking piece of his claw -- but the cautionary warning was more than he would have given any other creature but a blood sibling.