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 Posted: Tue Sep 16, 2014 6:03 pm
Casimir was coming at them, his characteristically humbled posture mitigated by the fact of his impressive size; Cas holding his head low mostly served to put him on eye level with the average wolf. His tail wagged inoffensively at Anatto in some combination of maddening guilelessness and innate parental skill at intentionally mortifying his children, but he quickly turned his attention to the female between his sons. "And you're injured, miss?" He flicked a smug glance at Django; look at my gallant boys. "My name is Casimir, and you seem to have found my sons. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Through all this, Django was steadily transforming into a state of wordless rage that was made possible by the end to his brief emancipation from family. He seemed to grow larger, wound tight in a way that suggested that setting loose this spring would put the entire group in mortal peril. The wolf himself seemed to know that and had taken a step away from them all, ears pinned back, eyes fixed on the ground several feet past his nose.
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Posted: Thu Sep 18, 2014 2:53 am
In the back of her mind, Tabea could hear the ghost of her father howling in anger at the situation she had put herself into. The mental chatter in Velskan was unnerving, but she had to admit he had a point. She had been foolish. She'd broken so many of his rules all at once: Relying on strangers, showing weakness, and now, worst of all, letting herself be surrounded by males.
An involuntary shudder ran through her.
Just pain from the burn, she thought fiercely. No reason to panic. Just excuse yourself and limp right on out of here.
Except of course that would never work. She couldn't get away if they didn't want her to. Somewhere, in what little part of her mind wasn't filled with her father's warnings, she could imagine that great, gaunt orange wolf pursuing her and tearing her to bits. No one else seemed fazed by the rage that was rolling off him, though....
"Your....sons?" She managed, finally, accent suddenly thickening. She left the rest of his questions unanswered, finding that the struggle with her instincts filled far too much of her brain to form more words.
Anatto glowered. He'd never hear the end of this. What a fiasco.
It was interesting, though. He caught the shift in her tone, the deepening of her accent. She was afraid. Much more afraid than she had been. He wondered why. Was it because of Django's steadily-rising temper? Or was she afraid of that hulking idiot they had to call their father?
Speaking of rising tempers. Anatto's eyes swept over to his brother, pleased and a little surprised to see just how well he was keeping it all in. He'd expected an outburst by now. Then again, that probably meant he'd be feeling it later. Or at least, somebody would.
He should have thought this through better. But now he was in the middle of it, so he might as well finish.
"Her paw is burnt," he said, to his father. His mental summation had taken up just a hair's breadth of time, words following quickly on the heels of Tabea's voice. "We were helping."
He hesitated a moment, as if preparing a wisecrack to accompany this information but then deciding against it.
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