sam evans ( werewolf ) . (tamest) wrote in light_of_may, |
There was a very good reason Sam always wore long sleeves that reached his wrists, why he layered his clothing like a shield around his body. Jo had seen the scars that his pack in Montana had left him with, the marks that would never fade, but others like Farren never had. Hopefully never would. To Sam they were a source of shame but at the same time it was somehow strangely fitting that he had them, one of those paradoxes that made his mind scream in confusion until he turned away from the issue and focused on something else. No one here did anything like that, raised a hand to another, they didn't bare their teeth and lunge in to bite or claw, to split flesh and spill blood. Sam kept expecting to see it, feel it, but it never came.
The mention of steak had him perking up a little with interest but at the same time there was that same old wariness there because while he'd had it when he was much younger there had been a long period of time when he hadn't been allowed to have it. Instead of spending more time thinking about that he nodded his head in response to her question. "Yes," he said, because that had been one of the things the others had expected of him, he'd done all the things no one else wanted to do and more often than not that involved preparing meals that they would proceed to eat and exclude him from until they were all done.
"She won't mind?" On some level Sam knew Farren wasn't being literal in her choice of words, that she would never force her mother to do anything, but there was still a part of him that couldn't help but wonder.