It was much colder in this foreign land then it was at home. Coszcotl had wandered great distances to arrive in these lands. His coat that was usually kept orderly was very matted and mangled with the journey here. Soft dark brown toes couldn’t even be seen with the muck and mud that covered them. Spring was on the way, the snow was melting, leaving mud and puddles spread around, only worsening the deeper he wandered into the crater. The area was heavily forested, like his home, the fire opal eyed brute took in a deep breath, and let his ears move about. There was a type of serenity here that he didn’t have at home, maybe it was just because he was free of his duty. A warrior? The jewel Coza? No, never. He wouldn’t fight, not for what they wanted him too, no more. His home was a land where they took slaves, sacrificed them to the sun and it was that time of year. It was time for the warriors to leave the tribe and attack the neighboring one. They did so every year, and every year they took several captives. At the highest hill, they would kill the wolf or wolfess, though quick once the time came the fight to pull and drag them to the top was hell. It wasn’t much of a fight anymore to get these captives. He had gone… he had killed for this god that he wasn’t sure existed just because he had too, because they fought back and they had beaten the tribe into submission before giving up several of it’s healthy members. He had watched the sacrifice done nothing to stop it. No more. The large white and brown brute had went that night, ran back to the tribe from whom they had stolen.

It hadn’t gone over well. They had tried to fight him, kill him and he couldn’t blame him. He let them snap at him, bit him, only tickles due to his large size. They had ‘lead’ him to their leader and he bowed before them, asking for forgiveness for his clan. They ignored him. He was trying to help, he tried to explain that they should run, leave before the next seasons sacrifice, why? Why did they want to stay so badly and let their wolves be murdered!? He didn’t understand! Still he didn’t understand. He couldn’t live there any longer, live in a land where leaders treated their loyal followers as replaceable objects, even the ones that were attacked they believed the sacrifices were necessary and planned on warring against his tribe for the apparent noble spot of being the tribe that murdered the others. It was how it was. He wanted no part of it any longer.

He still wanted to repent for his aide in the killing of so many innocents, ones just trying to protect their yearlings, elderly and their home. Coza, a gentle giant had blindly followed and killed them. It was wrong, he knew it while he fought, he knew it while he even grabbed the jugular of a young male tossing him to the ground and finishing him with a snap. It was so easy to take a life. The large brute would never do so again. It was a sin, he was certain of this, killing your own kind for no reason, really for any reason, was bad.

Coza’s paws were loud on the ground, loud suction sounds with each step, breathing a bit heavy. He needed to stop, clean up and collect his thoughts. This place, it was refreshing the birds singing was a welcome change spring certainly was on the way. Pausing he looked up, not seeing any of the feathered kind and frowned at the very least they were singing, finding mates. Continuing forward, he followed a little stream that lead down to a swamp. That wasn’t exactly what he was looking for to clean up with. Well it would do.

Coza moved forward, stepping into the clearest area he could find, the mud on his paws flowing off. He would need to find a cleaner spring to bring his currently sullied white coat back to the pristine white it usually was. "This is no good. Too cold, to dirty, I need better area to clean and rest." Coza spoke in his native tongue, Nahuatl, quietly, his tones deep fitting his large size. He moved out of the water, looking down at his legs and seeing that, though the mud was gone now he had great brown streaks going up them. He wasn’t vain but he did enjoy having at least being a certain degree of clean.


"This me speak your tongue."
"This is me speaking my Nahuatl tongue"



Coza
~ Four Years ~ Free Heart ~ Free Soul ~ Wanderer ~