Completion

Even when he felt the harshness of his own vocal chords fall still, the echo of his voice could still be heard for a second with quickly fading form. His clenched jaw gave a last pulse of tension as he groaned softly and then straightened, the pain ebbing to a dull ache. He stood still then, listened with ears cocked forward. He had heard something else moving too – probably whoever else he had smelled. A voice pried through the darkness, sounding feminine and pretty and allowing him to pinpoint a more certain location of his new company. She asked if he was alright, and he responded, ”Eh, yeah…” No snappy remarks. No grumbles or mumbles. His tone even had a hint thankfulness for her concern. There was something liberating about the apprehending darkness – the way it stole away not only your vision but everyone else’s. It was an equalizer. In it, he had no identity beyond his voice; he did not need to be “tough” or harsh or unloving and abrasive as he often felt exposed in the daylight. Here, he could not place his scornful gaze upon her and she could not look upon him and see a sour expression. It somehow pacified him.  

The beast blinked, finding strangeness in that it changed little about the visibility of the area (although he knew that it only made sense). Licking his lips, he shifted his weight to one side, but did not move. He was not afraid of bumping more rocks – he was afraid of bumping another wolf now. ”Did I… did I disturb you?” he asked, his brow furrowing. A question, holding any amount of concern, felt unfamiliar on his tongue. It felt fat and clumsy, not only in the words but the way his mouth handled them. But he had asked nonetheless. He wondered if there were other wolves in here. The idea brought sudden worry. He had checked before coming in, but often times it only takes a person one little thought to tear a hole in which caustic doubt finds opportunity.