fire and ice

The morning sun broke over the tree lines in the distance, golden and nearly blinding as Crete paused to marvel at the beauty of the early morning, taking in the myriad of colors the rising sun painted the sky. Vivid reds, purples, oranges, and navy blues, all velveteen and artistically displayed. Sea green eyes diverted after a few moments, to avoid burning his corneas out of his skull and adding blind to his already full list. Being mute was enough for him. Thinking of staring at the sun and becoming blind in accordance to such a foolish action made him remember that he had heard a rumor that they had a blind wolf within their ranks. Crete was sort of fascinated with the idea of how they would interact since the blind creature would likely rely dominantly on sound and smell. Crete could think of numerous ways, fascination aside, that might be problematic, unless Peregrine or Atticus were there to translate for him. As much as Crete loved his brothers, and was grateful for their help when it was critical and important, when he needed them, there were a lot of times when Crete wanted to do it on his own. It was almost like Aether was still here, holding his paw, explaining to allied pack dignitaries that he was mute. 'Time to let go Dad,' Crete thought to himself as he padded towards one of Blacktail Deer’s numerous caches, digging at it to uncover the meats stored inside. Gingerly, Crete dropped his plump rabbit in the cache and covered it back up in a contemplative, precise manner. 'I can do things on my own.' Crete was tired of being coddled like a child, though it was a relief that Peregrine and Atticus let him do his own thing.

Some of their siblings weren’t so grasping of the concept that Crete strived for an independence he feared his disability did not allow. It was true, he had adapted to relying on his siblings for help because that was what he and they had been taught to do.

A deep breath was taken, inhaling the crisp scent of the snow, the chill stinging his lungs as it the cold air settled in his chest, before he let it out, breath rising from his leathery black nostrils in a furl of white steam. Crete had sort of picked up a personal routine that he did not usually deviate from too much (rare cases aside), hunt for himself, hunt for the pack’s caches. He followed the rule that anything he hunted for himself he had to hunt for one of the caches (this usually happened how many ever times a day Crete hunted for himself). It only seemed fair to give as much as he took (even though he typically did not like to take from the caches unless it was dire), so to speak. From adding his catch to one of the caches he made a strict beeline for the borders, liking to patrol. Even though, as Tyrannus, and even Peregrine himself, had pointed out he was hardly a threat. His muteness greatly diluted his fierce factor, but what his brothers didn’t know was he could tear apart a wolf just as well as either of them. Though his benevolence made him normally shy away from violence, if he or the pack was under attack he would not go down without a fight. And maybe his lack of intimidation could work to his advantage. The fact that he knew how to fight (and fight well, at Aether’s decree) might come as a total surprise to enemies, for not expecting it.

This was what Crete told himself, anyway. He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts as he began to pad along the scent markers, pausing every once in a while to freshen them up in places.

table by houkie