February 08, 2016, 11:03 AM
He had returned to her quicker than expected. The crunching of snow betrayed his approach, and Wednesday turned to look over her shoulder at him. While she hungered then and there, it was not to the extent that she thought of pushing him over the ledge to eat him. Gristle she had known for the longest of any that roamed the earth with her, but if that instilled any loyalties toward him one might never know. Her self-perseverance was most important to her; it so happened that Gristle and his assistance had proven more valuable to her than anything else. Wednesday was patient, to a certain extent. The only fuse on her had to do with her pride. If any challenged her, she fought to kill them. It would be the last damn thing they ever did.
The displeased sound caused her to look away from him and back to what lay ahead of them. For the most part, it was covered in white. It did look pretty dismal, but the bleakness of the world could be attributed to the clouds overhead. Her reaction was equally as pessimistic as his own, but her patience remained with her. There was potential here, she must remember that.
Wednesday remained silent as her eyes traced the path downward. She took some steps backward in case he felt the urge to send her downward. The moral code of Gristle was questionable, but never did it seem as terrible as her own. She, after all, set the bloody battle of the Red Canyon to motion. He helped see it through to completion, though she had always been the strongest within the pack (of the she-wolves, as surely Gristle and her looked to be well matched), her late fathers daughter in every sense of the word though a far looser canon.
Perhaps Gristle kept with her because he knew of her potential, her strength, her survivalist ambition and her cruel leadership. Fear was her weapon, the blood-stained teeth she wielded ammunition that never missed. She had the marksmanship of a professional sniper, and Wednesday's kill count did plenty of favors to her fearsome reputation.
Here she was an unknown. Here she could be who she wished to be. But then, Wednesday was not much of a pretender, and had not a single regret.
The displeased sound caused her to look away from him and back to what lay ahead of them. For the most part, it was covered in white. It did look pretty dismal, but the bleakness of the world could be attributed to the clouds overhead. Her reaction was equally as pessimistic as his own, but her patience remained with her. There was potential here, she must remember that.
Wednesday remained silent as her eyes traced the path downward. She took some steps backward in case he felt the urge to send her downward. The moral code of Gristle was questionable, but never did it seem as terrible as her own. She, after all, set the bloody battle of the Red Canyon to motion. He helped see it through to completion, though she had always been the strongest within the pack (of the she-wolves, as surely Gristle and her looked to be well matched), her late fathers daughter in every sense of the word though a far looser canon.
Perhaps Gristle kept with her because he knew of her potential, her strength, her survivalist ambition and her cruel leadership. Fear was her weapon, the blood-stained teeth she wielded ammunition that never missed. She had the marksmanship of a professional sniper, and Wednesday's kill count did plenty of favors to her fearsome reputation.
Here she was an unknown. Here she could be who she wished to be. But then, Wednesday was not much of a pretender, and had not a single regret.
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Messages In This Thread
the master and margarita - by Wednesday - February 08, 2016, 10:03 AM
RE: the master and margarita - by Gristle - February 08, 2016, 10:28 AM
RE: the master and margarita - by Wednesday - February 08, 2016, 11:03 AM
RE: the master and margarita - by Gristle - February 08, 2016, 11:26 AM