Post by Noah James Alexander Jr on Jan 11, 2019 13:51:54 GMT -6
Two hundred fifteen days. New Year’s come and gone. Christmas reveled. Rose, Hay, Green Corn, Barley, Blood, Mourning, and Cold Moons all come and gone. Natasha had fit in about as good as expected and then some. There was blood hurt feelings and the eventual coming together hunt that always happened when new wolves’ especially strong new wolves joined the pack. Moreso due Natasha having killed the former lupa. Tamara was a well-liked wolf. Despite her penchant for biting off more than she could chew, pettiness and sometimes cruel streak. She had a magnetic personality. And what none of the others ever understood, she cared for them yes but in the way of ownership. She took pride in them being her wolves and the attention she paid was akin to that of a child insuring their toys were all in working order.
He didn’t let on what he knew as at his essence he was much the same. They were his wolves and as such there was an unspoken understanding in place. Respect of above all else. Not the illusion of it which was what a lot of the unspoken gestures were about. But the truth of it the real hard true pulling up by the short curlies, was that true respect smelled closely of fear. So close in fact that once bathing in it, it was hard not to become noseblind to the difference between the two.
Luckily Natasha had never feared him. He was able to discern when she was growing restless and all too complacent. While the wolves were as wild as well wolves there was a cohesive ingrained understanding that all the humanity in the world could never truly displace. A steady hand and a stern one. He knew she might run again but it was as it was. He would deal with that in time. For now he stood on the deck looking over the cold January ground contemplating on how best to bring the pack to a good turn. The usual jobs they did were fallow during the cold.
He didn’t let on what he knew as at his essence he was much the same. They were his wolves and as such there was an unspoken understanding in place. Respect of above all else. Not the illusion of it which was what a lot of the unspoken gestures were about. But the truth of it the real hard true pulling up by the short curlies, was that true respect smelled closely of fear. So close in fact that once bathing in it, it was hard not to become noseblind to the difference between the two.
Luckily Natasha had never feared him. He was able to discern when she was growing restless and all too complacent. While the wolves were as wild as well wolves there was a cohesive ingrained understanding that all the humanity in the world could never truly displace. A steady hand and a stern one. He knew she might run again but it was as it was. He would deal with that in time. For now he stood on the deck looking over the cold January ground contemplating on how best to bring the pack to a good turn. The usual jobs they did were fallow during the cold.