marcus alvarsson . (wildness) wrote in exsanguious, @ 2015-10-26 20:27:00 |
|
|||
Wolves were afraid of fire but werewolves had the human logic and reason to temper that fear. It had become something of a tradition that they light one when they headed out for the full moons and by now they had been visiting the same spot for so long that they had taken it upon themselves to fashion a kind of pit and it was always there waiting for them when they came back. To Marcus that was reassuring, that no matter what happened between each visit their pit, their spot, was always waiting for them, exactly as they had left it. Some things never changed: that was comforting.
They had food and other provisions, everything they would need to see them through the night and the two following it, it was like any other full moon and yet it was anything but. Marcus could feel it and he was certain the rest of the pack could feel it too, that tightness in the air, that sense of something being wrong. San Luis Obispo was like a powderkeg and it was only a matter of time before it blew, there was no denying that, certainly not now, but therein lay the problem.
The pack couldn’t just up and leave. It wasn’t as easy as that. It never was.
Sitting forward on his perch on a rock he had come to favour above all the others around the pit in which the fire crackled he prodded at the logs with the long stick he was holding in one hand, listening to -- but not really listening in on -- the idle chatter passing around between the rest of the pack. It was about an hour before they would head off and transform, for now all they had to do was pass the time in whatever ways they saw fit.