BUT WE'RE YOUNG

OPEN FLOWERS IN THE WINDY FIELDS
OF THIS WAR TORN WORLD

The silver-furred female enjoyed her vole thoroughly. It had been so long since she had made a kill of her own, and the hunting adrenaline still coursed through her veins. Her strong, capable teeth crunched through bone and flesh, and hot blood spilled down her chin and onto her paws. She licked her lips hungrily, tearing at the fresh meat with a fervour that could not be matched in all of Moladion. It felt so right to be hungry again, to enjoy the various sentiments and sensations that came with being alive. As she ate she remembered the male talking, accepting her gratitude for the meal he had offered. She shivered slightly at the recollection of his easy grin. Something about him unnerved her, although she wasn't yet sure what that something was. Perhaps it was his smooth grin, his oily voice or his lithe, almost feminine body. He was too perfect and, when next she raised her muzzle from her meal, it was to regard him warily. He seemed not to notice her appraisals or, if he noticed them, not to be bothered by them. Instead he took her up on her offer of a meal, moving close to her to snap up the rat she had caught, brushing his coal-shrouded paw against her pale one. Startled she drew it towards her, a small snarl starting on her lips before dying as quickly as it had begun. She was warning the other not to get too familiar. After all, she was not at his side for any other reason than for the fact that he had food.

Beside the pair, the river gurgled easily in its bed, feeding the trees and grasses as the wolves were feeding, its cool waters beckoning as the heat of the day began to bake, even in the recesses of the shade. Cvijet's jaws opened and she began to pant, her long tongue curling at the end and forming a cup in which saliva gathered before dripping out onto the earth. The dark male still regarded her quietly, until the silence around them became too thick to be ignored, and he spoke. She listened without interrupting, although she broke eye contact with him as he called her lovely, her pelt heating up with embarrassment. Still, she could not leave his questions unanswered for too long and so she replied in her own delicate lyricals, “Enderley. A unique name indeed. However, I must insist that every wolf comes from somewhere, even if every wolf is not a somebody. I am part arctic, part gray, and my name means blossom in the Northern language.” She was less eager to tell him about her personal problems but, once again, her trusting nature won and she parted her maw to speak, “My father and I travelled together, after I lost my mother. I healed him when he stopped eating and taught myself the craft that way. I stayed at his side as he took a new mate, and was betrayed by her, and once again healed him when he refused to eat. He was my life, and I was his. Eventually I grew old enough to travel and left Moladion for greener pastures. Upon my return, I found that the land had changed and, after a run in with my half-brother, was led to the bleached bones of my father. After such a terrible realisation I no longer wished to eat or sleep, I only thought of him and all the hardships he faced. He died with a pup in his jaws, trying to save it from the comet's impact no doubt. He was a hero, and I am only now learning to cope without him.”

It felt good to get it off her chest, even if the listener was a wolf she had never met. Perhaps it was better that way, for he could offer her unbiased council on the matter. Her emerald eyes grew moist with unshed tears and she blinked them away, determined to be strong before the black warrior, as her father was strong, “I know I am child no longer, but ours was a friendship and a dependance that ran deep, and I never did get a chance to say goodbye. Anyhow, your fish has helped me ragain my appetite.”

She smiled, this time a soft and sincere grin. The wolf had helped her, and deserved some true gratitude, even if he did creep her out a little. The chirruping of cicadas grew to a crescendo around them and Cvijet thought she would go mad from the noise and the heat. To block out the unpleasentness, she spoke again, “So, Enderley, I have shared my tale with you and I believe that you owe me one now. Why would somebody as, erm, confident as you call out for companionship?”

---

age. 13
daughter of. fao'lan
mate. none
pack. none
mother to. none
credit. x