Razorback Ridge and how they hold you like a gun

awesome!! sorry for the delay here :-,)

the moment the word is out of his mouth it feels a mistake. of course, he has well and truly trapped himself, the cliff sloping to valley floor all around him. not exactly nowhere to go – just nowhere to go but down.

but he has not run from a conversation yet – for all the messes he has made of them thus far, for all the wolves surely now questioning his sanity. at least they and he are well-matched in opinion in that department; this will not be the first embarrassment caligula makes of himself, and not the last.

she turns, and with her entire face in view, her appearance makes no more sense than it did before. canine, clearly – familiar eyes and muzzle – but, like her slight frame, the tufts of her ears and tail do not belong to a wolf. her voice, when she speaks, is little more than a croak – she squints when she looks at him, in the half-second before he turns his gaze away and over her shoulder.

he has not looked anyone in the eyes in years. this will not be any different. but the crack in her voice calms the instinctive tension in his limbs somewhat, such that when she creeps a few steps in his direction, he does not bolt; instead, his neck rolls back against his shoulders, tail wavering uncertainly.

an eye for weakness. as much as he despises it, as much as it truly means nothing now – caligula could not use his teeth if his life depended on it, and he knows that, and it is why every meeting freezes his voice in his throat – he sees…there is something here, in the shakiness of her own movements.

caligula does not only know these by training anymore. these are things he knows through experience, and that is truly what makes him pause.

he hesitates for a moment, searching anxiously for a topic to justify opening his mouth in the first place. the first one he finds, he catches right before it leaves his throat. asking her what she is…it does not matter, really, and it does not seem like an auspicious start to a conversation; he has enough presence of mind to know that.

instead, instead – he has never gone wrong with apologies. “i am sorry, to… i did not want to, ah…startle you. it would be…” his muzzle shifts briefly towards the cliff’s edge, though his gaze – even though it is fixed over her shoulder, not on her – does not waver. “not good. i think.”

he just about keeps himself from flinching. it seems inevitable that he puts his foot into his mouth every time, and still, “sorry.” again. for a long moment that is the last thing he says, shifting on the spot as he remains looking determinedly off over her shoulder, and then, “are…you okay?”