Swiftcurrent Creek i'm just the muscle

Scimitar offered his story freely. It was short and lacked the explosive drama she had come to expect, but did go some way toward explaining his lack of.. enthusiasm? Bazi couldn’t think of an appropriate word, but would have - had she been human - likened his attitude to someone that like the idea of soccer but hadn’t found their dream team. He went through the motions, hunting and guarding and peeing on things, but lacked the fervent devotion of a super-fan. So far, anyway, and that wasn’t surprising. In her short time with Swiftcurrent Creek, many wolves had tried and failed to fit in. There was only a hard core of devotees left, like stubborn lumps of carbon when all else has burned away.

”Me?” Bazi had stared intently throughout Scimitar’s story, even when he stopped to address an itch. The question jolted her, and her previously steady gaze began to flit around the male’s broad face. ”I.. same sort of story,” she started, but the words had a peculiar taste. That would not be enough. ”I had a family pack, much further north. There was a fire - “ a somewhat off-white lie ” - and we were tragically separated. I woke up here - don’t ask me how. This is much further south than I’ve ever been. I assume… that someone carried me.” In truth, the northerner had spent several months in a rehabilitation center after a devastating outbreak of sickness - something that, unbeknownst to Bazi, still lurked in her blood. Her eyes found Scimitar’s again, anchoring themselves in the deep, tropical blue. ”Everyone has such a sad story - don’t you just get sick of it? I can’t for Tuwawi’s normal, happy babies to be born - their stories will be so wonderfully plain.”