| MONSTERS
tired of deception from every angle and the constant fear
"As well as any dog can hope to be in such times," his rich voice answers quietly, giving her a sidelong glance. The lack of wounds upon her body made him believe she was going well, and hopefully not stirring trouble with ravenous wolves again. Osiris respected his lupine brethren, for he believed their souls were much kinder than the equids which ruled these lands. After all, the equine would kill for greed, revenge, hatred - the wolves killed to survive. What is more evil than spilling blood wastefully? The great beast would know, for he had allowed others to use him for such games.
Because of the steady gaze the wolf kept upon the colorful mare bedecked with shining feathers, it is when she begins to speak of home that he noticed a shudder run through her face, almost imperceptibly. He averts his golden eyes, toward the ground, wishing not to pry into the emotions that the girl was trying very hard to hide. Unfortunately for her, the wolf was used to watching others. Any of the proud warriors of Isilme would have the same mannerisms when speaking of the land east of here. To Osiris, Isilme had been many things, but he would hardly say losing the land scarred him. All he cared about had survived the plague of shadows, and the only lost heirloom of Isilme left him after surviving such horrors.
No, the wolf did not care about the loss of Isilme. May the evils committed on its soil die there.
Lifting his golden gaze from the floor, expecting Bellona's composure to have returned, he holds it less harshly. She may be prickly, but the girl was recently wounded. Osiris guessed her homeland had met some sort of tragedy - why else would she be here?
Thankfully, the lavender hued mare offers the hybrid an escape from this uncomfortable predicament the beast has found himself in. Away from the sensitive feelings and back toward biting sarcasm, where he was safe from forming real connections. "Hardly, Yseulte," he says with a smirk. "An overgrown wolf has no match." Unless, of course, they were counting the ten inch, scrawny dragon of ebony upon his shoulder.
As the nose of the brightly painted warrior reaches toward his shoulder, Comadre reached out a clawed hand gently, trying to pat her ever so slightly on the muzzle. His grin intensifies, looking rather threatening aside from the innocent expression of the gleaming violet eyes. He lets out a coo, followed by the short greeting of the mare's name (in dragon's tongue, of course). "Veellooo." The wolf chuckles, a charming sound, almost, despite its small size. "He has not quite mastered the sound of B yet."
With her words come thinly veiled pricks, to which Osiris offers a hard glinted stare, though his expression is far from frosty. The wolf finds this mare amusing, if anything, with her spirited insults and quick wit. Mocking another was easy, but she turned this game into banter instead. "Well, you might notice a slight disparity in our sizes, Bellona," the wolf says rather bluntly. "How am I to ride a ten inch dragon without killing him?" He smirks, looking at her with lively eyes in the darkness.
"And you may be likable yet," he returns to her, ready to bat back as many comments as she would like. Her words snap at the orange tiger, asserting her position as a warrior. Osiris smiles imperceptibly to himself. As if her nature did not boast her title for her; fierce, angry, probably violent. She was definitely a warrior from the start.
The wolf's gaze slinks off toward the cat's as he addresses him directly. The sharp toothed tiger finally managed to get to his feet at some point during the exchange with Bellona, and Osiris looks over him for a moment. "The Grey only seeks capable bodies," he says flatly, his voice unyielding and calm. "We are after those with skills of their own; if you have none to offer, I would not waste your time tagging along." Judging by the way he tripped over himself, Osiris rather doubted the cat was good for anything aside from a punchline. He may still be surprised, yet. "You are free to travel with me to the border, but you will have to earn your entry."
What is this group you speak of? The wolf opens his mouth to answer Bellona, but before he can, the gentle voice of Yseulte rings in the air. He could roll his eyes at her inappropriate outburst, but the wolf was no schoolteacher. You cannot teach the rude manners without force, usually, and he had no desire to harm the lady of purple. He would just wait patiently, calmly, and quietly for her pitch to be over.
What the wolf thought of her group was not worth mentioning outloud, he thought. He could insult her rather petulant writing off of the entire male gender, but chose not to. If she wished to turn away half of the able-bodied warriors she could be recruiting, it was her business. "Offering acceptance into a cult you cannot leave on pain of death is one way to charm new members, I suppose," he says quietly to himself as she finishes, not wishing to sway the thoughts of Bellona one way or the other. He had no business steering her life for her.
"As you had asked before, Bellona," he begins, glancing toward the lady of lavender before turning his feral eyes back toward the bird. "The Grey resides in a land northwest of here, the Windtossed Foothills. We are a band of mercenaries, skilled warriors and spies for hire. We make no loyalties outside of our own. The only requirement we have is ability," the wolf smiles slightly looking at her. "The weak hold no place in our home."
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