sam evans ( werewolf ) . (tamest) wrote in light_of_may, |
On some level Sam had been aware of someone else nearby, of another wolf being in proximity not only to him but the space that had been designated as his. It was impossible for him not to possess that kind of awareness after his upbringing but still it wasn't until Jo knocked the way she did -- and he knew right away that it was Jo, her scent was so distinct that there was no mistaking her, just as there was no mistaking any one of the wolves who lived in this house -- that he really reacted. It wasn't uncommon for other occupants of the house to just mill around and mind their own business and Sam had grown accustomed to that in his own quiet, observant way since arriving. For all he'd known Jo had been on her way to another part of the house and had had no intention of stopping at his door. She had, though, and he turned to look in her direction as she spoke, his eyes finding her face in the same instant that her voice seemed to stop.
It seemed to stop because it had, Sam realised. Jo wasn't really looking at him, either, he picked up on that very quickly. It took him a moment to realise what she was looking at and while it was him it wasn't his face or his eyes, where she tended to look. Sam realised then what she could see that she hadn't seen before and just like that he forgot all about the shirt he'd been trying to untangle. It lowered to his side as he slowly dropped his arms. Wolves weren't shy creatures, and what Sam felt when he realised Jo was staring at the scars wasn't shame exactly. He didn't know how to describe it, couldn't find the words to explain, even to himself, how he felt. Maybe it was shame. Sam knew he felt heavier all of a sudden, a little awkward and uncertain, all familiar feelings to him but this was something else. Something new.
To another were, especially a wolf, the scars would be unmistakable, or at least a large number of them. The pattern and size and shape of them around his sides and shoulders and arms were undoubtedly bite marks, souvenirs from all the times any one of the pack had locked their jaws around whatever part of him they could get hold of, sometimes just because they could but sometimes for a very different reason. More times than Sam could recall the people he had once called his parents had bitten him, left him with scars like the ones Jo was getting her first look at now. They had wanted to change him. Make him like them. It hadn't worked.
Sam averted his gaze from Jo's face, realising that without even noticing he had essentially been staring. That on top of the fact that she was still looking at him like that made him feel he needed to refocus his gaze, this time on the foot of the bed. He didn't cover up, though, didn't pull the shirt over his head, because Sam had been taught he should never do that when a more dominant wolf was around, not unless they told him to do so.