There Is A Train That's Heading Straight

Wolf Like Me - TV on the Radio

BIC::The boy would listen to her tale with a calm and interested expression. It was indeed a long story, one saturated with all the petty tyrants and kings nonsense that he had despised from a young age. Disputes like this made little sense to him because even at the height of their perfection, the Folami had never claimed land. And they had always been strong. The first generation had been larger still than him and lived for roughly three decades. But that was a long. Long time ago. But if her account was to be trusted, and he did feel a compulsion to trust her, then this land was hers by birth right. After she finished her account, he sat there in silence for a moment as he considered her words. His face would become very serious for a moment as his tail came around to rest at his side, going perfectly still as he simply looked her over. It was a shame, he thought. That someone so dedicated to being good in this world should have to wade through so much sludge for no reason at all. All the same, should she prove herself really capable of pulling her little rebellion off, she would be well worth her weight in Folami standards. Finally, after much thought, he would speak again. "The mganga that spawned you. She was quite noble." It wasn't much that he offered, but she was still a stranger to him. It took blood to forge bonds among his people. And until he saw her maw painted red, she would remain a stranger. Because just as she had a right to the West by birth, he had a right to the old traditions.

A single wage of his tail betrayed him as he thought for a moment as to where to begin. She had offered him a long story and so perhaps it was fair that he offer her very much the same. So, expression not changing, as it was his nature to offer very little, he began. "I am a Folami, Malkia. We are an old race. Older still by far than your Alacritis. In the early days, the first of my kind where demons created by monsters to serve without question. You see, these monsters fancied themselves gods. Then Mungo, the real god, would come along in anger and displeasure with them and put something in our chests we didn't have before. Nafsi. What you call a Soul. The old stories say that this event was followed by very much pain. We would be divided in two, half embracing the gift, and half trying to reject it. Those old Folami could live thrice as long as you or I, you see. So it too them a long time to learn to use this gift and break free of the monsters' control. We retained several aspects of ourselves though, even into this age." He would pause for a moment and consider how to continue.

What followed was a recount of his Nomadic people. They moved from one place to another, not needed a claimed land to still be strong and be a pack. He would recount the Mlezi who had slaughtered the monster's pawns to protect her people. And he would explain their very tribal nature. The hunger that they had retained for a very long time and would carry even after this age was long forgotten as well. Explaining how blood was a very important thing of who they where. Even the flesh of their enemies. His scared lip and half ear only serving as proof of their borderline savage nature. He took painful steps to make sure she understood that they where not an evil people. If anything, their nature was the side effect for how they came into existence. Underneath it all, though, he was still very intelligent and very capable. But when you are born to hunt and kill, you are born to hunt and kill.

All the while he would not change his tone or his expression. "And so, to those who earn our respect, we are unquestionably loyal to. I myself have little experience in such matters because of my youth, I am still very much a blank page. I have never fed on our original prey, nor have I ever killed in battle. I know much, but have much still left to learn. All these things can be summed up with our very name sake, Malkia." He would pause for a moment and meet her gaze head on, observing every reaction of hers from his next words. He had been evaluating her the entire time, desiring to know how she would take to all of this information, it did require some stomach. In closing he would give her the age old words that where his history, future, and legacy all compacted into one. "Folami. In your language, it means, 'I Command Respect.'" And with one more wag of his tail, he would conclude, ready now to see what her take on the tale of his was.