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17th of Winter, 515 AV
Another day.
Another day.
Another day.
---
in the Grass
He had spent the dark, early morning with his dogs, simply lying around. Sister had wanted to go out and do something, she had been antsy from the start, but the coyote had not wanted to move.
Eventually she had decided enough was enough and she left, Brother wandering after her. The coyote had stayed where he was. It was okay that his dogs were hungry and had left to hunt for a meal without him. Though he had not used to like it, nowadays it was easier when he was alone. Alone, there was no one to hide his inside-wrongness --his hurting?-- from.
Then the clouds and the lingering black of night had gone and the sun had come out. But the weak sunlight had been mixed with rain, and lying on the hard cold ground in the rain all by himself had become miserable. The coyote got slowly to his feet and stretched, wincing.
It was as if his body ached but without aching. Like there was pain without pain. A tiredness and stiffness. That was how his emotions were now too-- like dim nothings just pretending to be there. He supposed it was some sort of sickness, because he did not feel right. But it was nothing like the illnesses he knew, there was no cough or itching wounds or sour stomach. There was just nothing.
He tried to find the concentration he usually had for hunting, but it wasn't there. He went hunting anyway.
---
He missed rabbits. He'd managed to focus enough to track down the dampened scent of prey in the rain and had been hoping for rabbit, an easier catch. Instead what he'd found was some sort of bird by the feathery, almost musty scent, though the smell had mud in it too.
Whatever it was it was the first thing he'd scented, and so he'd decided to go for it, not wanting to have to spend the effort to find something else when this prey was already so close.
Birds were hard, though. He would have to be fast. They could fly.
He tracked it through a tall, reedy sort of grass onto land that steadily grew muddier and marshier. Close to water. His paws were getting stuck in the mud and water had leaked from somewhere --an overflowing pond or small lake near the shore?-- making chill slush up to his ankle in the wettest places.
He was stupid and not paying enough attention, distracted by the rain and bad ground, when he stumbled over the bird's nest. And the bird. It was bigger than he'd thought, with a long curling neck. He only got a glimpse of it before the big wings were flapping. His body was full of that nothing-ache; he was too slow. He managed to snap his teeth down on some feathers but they just yanked out in his mouth and with a squawk the bird was out of reach.
The coyote watched his prey soar into the grey of the sky and was resigned to it. He had been a poor hunter of late. He couldn't remember the last time he had caught something on his own, without his dogs there to make up for his blundering mistakes.
He put his nose to the ground and snuffled through the bird's nesting area but there were no eggs, not with the air this cold.
Empty-jawed, he turned to go home.
---
Blackwater pavilion
Here he felt even more useless. He knew what a pavilion was: a place where people, usually a family, lived together, and each helped the others. Each made a contribution to the whole, every day.
The coyote had no contribution.
He had been avoiding the people here for a while now, ever since he had come to live in these tents. It was easier to be alone; easier to hide his disquiet, his inside-sickness, when nobody was there watching him. But despite all the emptiness inside, the one feeling he still had was guilt. He should be doing something to help.
He knew Dravite had suggested that he meet the boy called Löwe, the serious-faced child who followed his father around sometimes and seemed like an adult-- not too unlike how his own boy had been. He knew that Dravite thought maybe Kyo and Löwe could help each other, if only they might become friends.
But he had balked before today, not wanting to be near anyone, and especially not the boy who might come, one day, to depend upon him in some way. The boy that he did not want to let down as he had let down his own bondmate.
But he would not hold back today. He would at least try to be useful.
The coyote went to the place that he slept and shifted human-form in a glimmer of light before pulling on his winter clothes-- a shirt and pants, a cloak with fur that settled over his shoulders. Making a face, he even stooped to clumsily drag on the leather shoes. It was much too many clothes and he would prefer to go without, but his human skin did not like the cold bite of the outside air.
Then he went to find the boy.
Löwe was with his father. They looked ready to go out and do something, maybe a trip into the grass. Here was his chance to do something, to help.
He didn't want to do it. Didn't want to face Dravite, who he thought certain would not be pleased with how the coyote-man had been acting, the way he had been keeping to himself. And Löwe, too, who might be better off if the coyote was not near him at all.
Kyo made himself approach.
Clearing his throat, he signed greeting to Dravite and a more-specific, hoping-to-be-friendly hello to Löwe. Then he asked, "Where do you go?" followed with a sloppy flash of Pavi, "I come? I" help, please? A pause, and he added, somewhat guiltily, "I want to help the pavilion, too. It is home for me, and I need to do what I can for you."
He had trouble making eye contact and his voice was meek. He wished that he could be a coyote curled up in a tent somewhere, snug and by himself, but this was something he had to do.
.
.
Another day.
Another day.
Another day.
---
in the Grass
He had spent the dark, early morning with his dogs, simply lying around. Sister had wanted to go out and do something, she had been antsy from the start, but the coyote had not wanted to move.
Eventually she had decided enough was enough and she left, Brother wandering after her. The coyote had stayed where he was. It was okay that his dogs were hungry and had left to hunt for a meal without him. Though he had not used to like it, nowadays it was easier when he was alone. Alone, there was no one to hide his inside-wrongness --his hurting?-- from.
Then the clouds and the lingering black of night had gone and the sun had come out. But the weak sunlight had been mixed with rain, and lying on the hard cold ground in the rain all by himself had become miserable. The coyote got slowly to his feet and stretched, wincing.
It was as if his body ached but without aching. Like there was pain without pain. A tiredness and stiffness. That was how his emotions were now too-- like dim nothings just pretending to be there. He supposed it was some sort of sickness, because he did not feel right. But it was nothing like the illnesses he knew, there was no cough or itching wounds or sour stomach. There was just nothing.
He tried to find the concentration he usually had for hunting, but it wasn't there. He went hunting anyway.
---
He missed rabbits. He'd managed to focus enough to track down the dampened scent of prey in the rain and had been hoping for rabbit, an easier catch. Instead what he'd found was some sort of bird by the feathery, almost musty scent, though the smell had mud in it too.
Whatever it was it was the first thing he'd scented, and so he'd decided to go for it, not wanting to have to spend the effort to find something else when this prey was already so close.
Birds were hard, though. He would have to be fast. They could fly.
He tracked it through a tall, reedy sort of grass onto land that steadily grew muddier and marshier. Close to water. His paws were getting stuck in the mud and water had leaked from somewhere --an overflowing pond or small lake near the shore?-- making chill slush up to his ankle in the wettest places.
He was stupid and not paying enough attention, distracted by the rain and bad ground, when he stumbled over the bird's nest. And the bird. It was bigger than he'd thought, with a long curling neck. He only got a glimpse of it before the big wings were flapping. His body was full of that nothing-ache; he was too slow. He managed to snap his teeth down on some feathers but they just yanked out in his mouth and with a squawk the bird was out of reach.
The coyote watched his prey soar into the grey of the sky and was resigned to it. He had been a poor hunter of late. He couldn't remember the last time he had caught something on his own, without his dogs there to make up for his blundering mistakes.
He put his nose to the ground and snuffled through the bird's nesting area but there were no eggs, not with the air this cold.
Empty-jawed, he turned to go home.
---
Blackwater pavilion
Here he felt even more useless. He knew what a pavilion was: a place where people, usually a family, lived together, and each helped the others. Each made a contribution to the whole, every day.
The coyote had no contribution.
He had been avoiding the people here for a while now, ever since he had come to live in these tents. It was easier to be alone; easier to hide his disquiet, his inside-sickness, when nobody was there watching him. But despite all the emptiness inside, the one feeling he still had was guilt. He should be doing something to help.
He knew Dravite had suggested that he meet the boy called Löwe, the serious-faced child who followed his father around sometimes and seemed like an adult-- not too unlike how his own boy had been. He knew that Dravite thought maybe Kyo and Löwe could help each other, if only they might become friends.
But he had balked before today, not wanting to be near anyone, and especially not the boy who might come, one day, to depend upon him in some way. The boy that he did not want to let down as he had let down his own bondmate.
But he would not hold back today. He would at least try to be useful.
The coyote went to the place that he slept and shifted human-form in a glimmer of light before pulling on his winter clothes-- a shirt and pants, a cloak with fur that settled over his shoulders. Making a face, he even stooped to clumsily drag on the leather shoes. It was much too many clothes and he would prefer to go without, but his human skin did not like the cold bite of the outside air.
Then he went to find the boy.
Löwe was with his father. They looked ready to go out and do something, maybe a trip into the grass. Here was his chance to do something, to help.
He didn't want to do it. Didn't want to face Dravite, who he thought certain would not be pleased with how the coyote-man had been acting, the way he had been keeping to himself. And Löwe, too, who might be better off if the coyote was not near him at all.
Kyo made himself approach.
Clearing his throat, he signed greeting to Dravite and a more-specific, hoping-to-be-friendly hello to Löwe. Then he asked, "Where do you go?" followed with a sloppy flash of Pavi, "I come? I" help, please? A pause, and he added, somewhat guiltily, "I want to help the pavilion, too. It is home for me, and I need to do what I can for you."
He had trouble making eye contact and his voice was meek. He wished that he could be a coyote curled up in a tent somewhere, snug and by himself, but this was something he had to do.
.
.
"Speaking in Common"
"And in Vani{descriptors}"
"And in Tukant [implications, descriptors]"
"And in Pavi" grassland sign
