walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden

Mithras sat down with a thump. He was used to this by now, but it was getting a little old all the same. So he looked a little different than the native wolves, but why did they all think he was a god or something, some sort of spirit? It wasn't enough to irritate Mithras, but he was more than a bit confused. "Eh, I get it all the time actually! But no, this is just how wolves look in my homeland." He looked skyward, trying to remember the lessons the clan shaman had told him when he was very young. "For hundreds of years my clan saw wolves colored like me as more connected to our spirits, so the wolves with the most beautiful coats were able to take more wives. After a while..." He shrugged, because the rest seemed self explanatory. The shaman had called it selection or... something, but whatever it was Mithras almost wished it had never happened. Or maybe he wished it had happened everywhere, because he liked his colors, he just didn't want to be an oddball everywhere he went! Maybe it was time to return to the Diamachi, where they knew him. "What about you, certainly your people have some odd customs?" He chuckled and smirked, wanting to know more about this strange male who seemed perhaps a bit more gobsmacked than most.



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