07-16-2013, 12:24 PM
"I've got claim on catchin' the truth in this month's moot. I hope t' honor yer - our - lost sister's bones by makin' one the anchor for it," his eyes cast level, but at a tilt, on her mouth, her jaw, perhaps where he believes the first hint of emotion on her thoughts of the idea might come. "Death's hangin' over us. It deserves form. I think its weight'll help keep our Sept's eyes on the road ahead,"
And when he's finished saying this, though it's dark, it's like he can smell it. Any animal, especially one of his breed, can smell it. Death. Its scent on her. He'd wakened the senses of the animal inside, the boons of the wolf, to descend into this dark place. And his sniffs, kneeling down, though it's not in full submission. A comfort in being lower to the ground. And it's to look at her hands. Fresh with the dirt of a grave.
"Can I clean yer hands, yer feet, sister?" His petition genuine.
His fat mitts, sausage-sized fingers than bend like balloon animals, reach out palms up and open for her to put her own in them, should she consent. It isn't a word as sterile as hygiene, but he remembers seeing Ma clean under Pa's nails, clip his toe nails for him when he couldn't bend so far, and for the wolf in him it seems like both bonding and chiminage both, should she allow it.
"And when I'm done, clean her bones as the rats pick them clean, fer that end?"
And when he's finished saying this, though it's dark, it's like he can smell it. Any animal, especially one of his breed, can smell it. Death. Its scent on her. He'd wakened the senses of the animal inside, the boons of the wolf, to descend into this dark place. And his sniffs, kneeling down, though it's not in full submission. A comfort in being lower to the ground. And it's to look at her hands. Fresh with the dirt of a grave.
"Can I clean yer hands, yer feet, sister?" His petition genuine.
His fat mitts, sausage-sized fingers than bend like balloon animals, reach out palms up and open for her to put her own in them, should she consent. It isn't a word as sterile as hygiene, but he remembers seeing Ma clean under Pa's nails, clip his toe nails for him when he couldn't bend so far, and for the wolf in him it seems like both bonding and chiminage both, should she allow it.
"And when I'm done, clean her bones as the rats pick them clean, fer that end?"