Far From Home

Quote:He was so different than many of the others she had met. She had almost taken for granted the fact that every other wolf wished to hold long and lengthy conversations, to carry them on easily and successfully on both sides, and become wonderful close friends after the quick but special encounter. They would constantly ask questions, await eagerly for the response, and then spill all sorts of things in hopes of learning as much about the other wolf. But Scipio did not. Rather than bombard her with questions, stare at her in such a way as to suggest he was hanging on her every unspoken word, his smile was warm, gentle, inviting, coaxing even. It was not forceful or demanding, but full of patience, no rush within those bright eyes of his. His complacency was so unexpected that it nearly drew out the curiosity in her, leading her to questions that she rarely got to ask while information was hurled at her left and right. In this golden wolf's presence she had time to think, time to adjust, and time to realize that he was unlike the other wolves of her acquaintance.

Unexpectedly, he apologized, apparently sensing her discomfort and mistaking it as being solely caused by him. Even with her eyes averted, Merci smiled ruefully to herself, certain that it was more of a complication with herself, a doubt that she was unprepared for social situations, that truly crippled her, but his efforts in making her comfortable in his presence was definitely reassuring. He did not ignore it, but faced it head on, and excused himself for it though he was not the source. He went on, informing her that she was one of the first he had seen in some time, which immediately drew her interest. Did this have something to do with his imprisonment? But as she lifted her dark brown eyes to peer at him again, he mentioned being pricked with sleeping juice and being in a good mood because its effects were gone. Sleeping juice? What was it that he could have mentioned? She had never heard anything like it before, had not even the slightest clue how she might explain it to herself, and only became more confused by the moment.

Finding her voice, she spoke up, though gently. "Sleeping juice?" Her question was asked softly though still heavy with misunderstanding. Dark eyes fixed on the stranger as he stared off toward the sunset, his golden coat coming to life in the lights that complimented them so well. "What do you mean?" she queried, hoping her question was an acceptable one. She only wished to understand, to know what he had meant by this and his earlier puzzling statement. Ears threatening to fall back against her head in apology for questioning it, Mercianne's brown eyes fell away yet again, still hopefully anticipating an answer.

-- mercianne