Re: [Lou & Atticus: wolfing]
Lou didn't think wolves, even wolves that were people most days out the month, did a whole lot of reasoning. A wolf divided the world up neatly, prey, predator, hurt and safety and she was about to bet the wolf across from her was dividing up the world with a new part in it and that part was Lou. It was his dumb luck she was looking for her people, and hers that she came across one stubborn enough to square on up and curl his lip. Lou curled hers, pink over white canine and that was reflex and gut-instinct.
She thought about the old alpha. Heard a lot about him, heard a lot about his baking. Lou could burn her place down before she could bake a thing, and she'd scalded her way through a couple pots before she worked out she burned water, too. But she heard that he was caring, she heard that his people felt looked after. Her people, now, but they wore traces of him still, markers buried deep in fur. Alphas wore packs, packs wore alphas and it took a long time for that to work out the system. Lou wasn't like him. She wasn't soft, and she didn't think that was a woman thing, Lou knew plenty of soft women. But she hadn't been soft and she wasn't now.
Unrepentant that she'd kicked off a showdown (of a really slow, painfully stubborn sort) the wolf could stand all day if he wanted to, Lou was plenty happy to stay put. This was about starting how you intended to carry on, and as far as Lou saw it, it was her woods. Hers, and the pack's. She didn't muscle, she didn't bristle. She had enough distance that if he came at her, she figured the change would kick in. It was nice like that. Regular. Painful, but regular but that was like dinner at the crappy diner, you knew repeating it would hurt like a sonofabitch but you could predict that, going in.
She yawned. As if she was going to go to sleep. Her woods, her time, her pack, hers. Lou didn't move.