I've been most unwilling,
To see this turmoil of mine.
The thought of sitting with this,
Has me paralyzed.
With this prolonged exposure,
To near and averted eyes.
I think that I've been waiting,
Such mileage for empathizing...
--Madness, Alanis Morissette

She watches.

She watches him walk ever so calmly to the coyote in front of him, the coyote simply standing there, like a statue in a park.

That poor thing is so confused, she muses.

The said poor thing was one of those that forgot the world actually moved; frozen in time, nerves numb, eyes blank, and senses dead.

Perhaps all living things do such when they know they’re seconds from death.

He stops just inches from the coyote’s face, just staring, as if he is trying to find something.

But he finds nothing.

Within seconds, it is over; his mouth clamps around the coyote’s head, reality crashing back down upon the helpless canid. But it is too late; he finishes the job with one bite, the blood splatter coating the ground in a deep crimson.

The coyote slams down upon the ground, as its own blood drips from his mouth into its closed eyes. If anyone else had seen it afterwards, they would have thought it was crying blood, perhaps lamenting its naivety and ignorance.

With a loud huff, he drags the dead coy closer to the entrance of the den, caching it for later. He returns to her side, licking the blood off of his long, narrow muzzle. She sighs as she watches, and proceeds to rub her chin into the ground, an itch begging to be itched. He sneezes as she riles up the dust, only for her to laugh as his fit continues.

“I still don't understand why you do it.” She says, as he sneezes one final time before laying across from her, his paws resting on hers.

“Why shouldn’t I?” He replies, irritation creeping into his voice. “You know my story well enough, I think.”

“Oh, but of course,” She rolls onto her back, gazing up at the sky. “You left your birthing grounds not of your own accord; chased away from a pack too big for a small being such as yourself.” She pauses, knowing that he is, in actuality, quite large for someone of his stature.

But such is irrelevant in her eyes.

She continues.

“The coyotes taunted you, saying you were born wolf meat. You spat back, and they took to the gang mentality, a game of ‘He did this, he did that.’ Beaten half to death, they left you to drag yourself away, one thought swimming within your mind.”

She stops as he leans in, his eyes level with hers.

“I hate them all. Every last one of them.”

She chuckles dryly, feeling the heat of his breath on her face. Though she knows it’s a touchy subject, she can’t help but feel some pity for those whose only sin was their species.

“Even so, he is a canine, a part of the evolutionary tree, no?” She pauses again, stretching slightly. “You know, the wolves around here don’t eat any coyotes they kill. They say that to feast on another canid, regardless of species or sin, is to feast upon yourself.”

He flinches as she emphasizes the last word. But he will not be silenced, not even by her.

Not even by the truth.

“Let them spit their nonsense,” He retorts, his pointed ears jetting forward as if on command. “I could care less what they say and think. They taunted me. They laughed at me. They almost killed me. It’s only fair I make them feel how I felt. Six…I need to do this.”

“’It's a bit unfair though, Eight,” Six says back, watching as Eight’s ears fold back slightly.

Perhaps he did feel some remorse. But if he did, it was overshadowed very easily by his hatred.

“You make it seem like it’s a necessity, when, in my honest opinion, it is simply hatred pushed beyond its bounds. I very much so sympathize with what happened to you, love, but it still bothers me that you try to turn it into a crusade to eliminate every last one of them.”

Eight rises, his lanky build shuddering with intense rage. But Six lies calmly, knowing that he would never attack her.

Because, in the end, she was right.

She was right, goddammit.

Stomping the ground with his left paw, he collapses into a heap on the ground, a cracked cup filled with hot tea. Six approaches, getting him to lift his head as she licks his tears away. After a few moments, his breathing steadies, his tears running low. He looks up at her, silently asking for forgiveness that only she can provide. She nuzzles him, quietly refusing his apology.

In her eyes, he had no need to apologize to her.

“You…you suffered as well…didn’t you?” he asks, his voice still shaking somewhat. She glances up at the sky again, reflecting on her own circumstances.

“Hmm…yes I did…my sister, pretty and rebellious, left the pack early, so everyone relied on me, the innocent, by the book one, to take care of everything.” She glances at him before continuing. “When I finally had enough, and left, my parents made it clear that if I were to return, I would be killed without a second thought.”

She sighs as she says the last sentence. The world truly was cruel.

“And of course, without the pack’s protection, I was easy pickings, whether it was for Mother Nature, a bear, or something else that felt the desire to take me down.”

She herself flinches, glancing at the almost healed scars on her legs.

“I made the mistake of wandering into another pack’s territory, blindly thinking they would take pity upon me, and accept me. But they didn’t. They attacked me outright, as I did everything I could to avoid showing my belly, lest they ripped it open.”

As she speaks, Eight lowers his eyes, understanding the pain of being outnumbered. He gags slightly as he taunts the thought of her stomach being ripped open.

Such was Eight’s train of thought; there was no issue with spilling the brains of a coyote, but any harm done to Six was something he never wished to think about. He was forced to admit that she had been closer to death than he himself was when he was attacked.

“But you managed to get out of their territory, stomach intact, yes?”

“Yes, that is true. But I was certain I was going to die, particularly since it was the heart of winter and death by frostbite was all too common for loners. But then you came along, taking pity upon me, and carrying me to a shelter not far from their border.”

He raises his head proudly, blushing slightly before she pushes onwards. She smiles, finding his gesture quite cute in nature.

“I was honestly very surprised,” She continues, laughing somewhat. “To think that you, of all beings, would take pity upon me. It wasn’t until after you explained your story, your scars, that I understood. And apologized for biting you the way I did.”

This time, they both laugh, remembering it well. Six, in a moment of self preservation, attempted to ward off her saviour by biting him in the leg, only to let go, shocked by its tenderness. After Eight explained how he had been attacked, she realized it was tender because it was only just starting to heal.

“The love sparked was quick, something that I never imagined would happen. Despite all the facts, we fell for each other, defying all logic, and took to Slough Creek to start a home.” She finishes, casting a glance at a small fox skirting by the both of them, doing a quick double take before proceeding to leave. She huffs, annoyed by the brief encounter.

Why does it matter so much?

“To be honest…if I was still with my pack…” He pauses, looking at her directly, as she turns her head to address him. “If I was still with my pack, and I had merely been gallivanting, I would have probably killed you, seeing you as a threat. To some degree, I am quite glad I was given the boot. You a wonderful wolf, Six. You truly are wonderful.”

“Mmm…and, despite all that I said, you are wonderful as well…Siren…” She lies next to him, using his true name for the first time in a long time. Eight bumps her gently, irritated again.

“I told you not to call me that. I am no longer Siren. I am Eight.”

The mood drops. The world, for once, seems to stop moving, waiting with bated breath for what is to come next. Eight attempts to say something, but his mouth can’t form the words.
He has unintentionally tapped into a darker side of his mate, something he had only seen once before…and had hoped to never encounter again.

She chuckles at his pathetic attempt to talk his way out of this; she wants to get the last word, in a fit of twisted pleasure in screwing with his mind.

“Just because you changed your name,” She starts, somehow keeping the taunting tone to a minimum, “It doesn’t mean that you changed your species…”

She lies down on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He struggles to try and release himself, but deep down, he knows it is no use. She rests her head on top of his, as he finally surrenders.

Despite his startlingly large size, he is no match for the wolf who is still, by far, larger, and more powerful, than him.

Her next words to him stir him; he finds her dark mood swing frightening, if somewhat sensual as well. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly turned on by it.

“…My lovely little coyote.”